


cocoa dust

by djhedy



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Coffee Shops, College, Cute, Exy (All For The Game), Flirting, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Soft Andrew Minyard, The Lady Doth Protest Too Much, and andrew kinda likes it, and neil kinda likes it, andrew is a jock, neil hates exy, neil is not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23637070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djhedy/pseuds/djhedy
Summary: Neil had seen the guy around campus a few times. It was hard not to. The exy team stood out. Or those three did, anyway. The twins with their shock-white blond hair and perpetual resting bastard face, and Kevin Day, the number 2 arrogantly tattooed on a high cheekbone, flanked as usual by at least one of the twins.And Neil knew their reputation. It’s why he stayed away.-or, neil gets a new job at the coffee shop opposite campus and guess which asshole is a regular
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 480
Kudos: 1739





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a tentative hello *waves at you* xxx

Neil had seen the guy around campus a few times. It was hard not to. The exy team stood out. Or those three did, anyway. The twins with their shock-white blond hair and perpetual resting bastard face, and Kevin Day, the number 2 arrogantly tattooed on a high cheekbone, flanked as usual by at least one of the twins.

And Neil knew their reputation. It’s why he stayed away.

Exy had never really interested him anyway.

Sport was pointless. Dull, even. The competitive urge to run around a large court flinging balls at each other.

He was pleased he’d got out of it when he did.

And yeah Neil had seen them. Dragging his bag around, head ducked low; counting days in his head, or how many clean clothes he had left before he’d have to do laundry again, or up to a hundred in German, or the number of people he passed by that he could take in a fight, or the number of people who would probably beat him unconscious.

But there was one time he couldn’t avoid them.

It was bad luck, really. Bad luck had Neil walking up to the same intersection of paths as them. October sun ghosting across the backs of his hands as he clenched the straps of his bag tighter, as one Minyard saw him approach and threw him a bored expression. The other was looking up at Kevin: Neil had a second to inspect this, how the path of the gaze travelled upwards but almost bounced off its intended point. Distracted? Neil frowned. Stopped a second before they did. Lingered over Minyard’s pale face, eyes dull and unfocused, familiarity spreading through Neil like a grip to his lungs.

Familiar, like dissociating.

So maybe that’s why Neil saw the ball before Minyard did. It didn’t explain the other twin, except his gaze had left Neil almost the second it had hit, and Neil recognised that game: _you are so unimportant I will look the opposite direction_. Or Kevin, but he was concentrating, face frowning and eyes narrowed at the unfocused one, head tilted a little toward him.

So yeah, Neil heard the football whistling through the air, saw a second before the _fucking Exy team did_ that it was going to hit their starting striker square in his tattoo, didn’t particularly want to but found himself pushing forwards to catch it anyway.

Neil hadn’t played any sport since he was 10 years old, but perhaps it was all muscle memory, the way his arms threw themselves forward to catch the ball, fingers stretching round it like they knew what they were doing better than Neil’s body did.

Which they almost did.

Neil’s body – math major, runaway, orphan, sweatpants 2 sizes too big – crashed straight into Kevin.

Kevin’s body pushed out a little grunt and a _“Fuck”_ before they hit the ground, Neil tumbling on top of him.

Neil started to push away on one elbow, the other arm cradling the football. A little horrified if he was honest. But he checked over Kevin’s head, shoulders – was met by a scowl. Seemed unharmed. “Oh,” said Neil, half-off Kevin, “sorry –”

Something sharp poked into his side and Neil stilled, instinctively holding his hands up, football falling from his grip and straight onto Kevin’s stomach. But Kevin was busy looking at the thing over Neil’s shoulder.

Neil, hands up, felt a hand curl around his shoulder, and struggled not to wince. He wouldn’t. It didn’t matter how long it had been since anyone had touched him. These were just jocks, and Neil had survived worse. Hands in the air, frowning at Kevin, he said, “I didn’t touch him, calm down.”

A puff of air brushed against his ear, and one of the Minyards said, “Get up.”

“Take the knife away and I will,” Neil said through gritted teeth, all too aware of exactly which organs Minyard was threatening to pierce.

His heart was beating heavily in his chest. He wanted to touch his hand to his chest, just for a moment, just to feel it beat, before he remembered he should keep his hands visible. Survival 101.

“Andrew…” came the same voice, “get off him. He’s nothing.”

_Yep_ , thought Neil. _So fuck off._

Kevin pushed himself out from under Neil and Neil felt the pressure of the knife on his hip lessen a little. Kevin said, “I’m fine. Let him go.” Kevin rose to his feet, nudged the ball away with his foot like he barely deigned to touch it, and said again, “Let him go, Andrew. He shouldn’t die for complete gracelessness.”

Neil looked up at Kevin. Still as a statue, hands still in the air, but he managed an unimpressed look. “Thank you. Asshole.”

“You knocked me over.”

“I saved your face.”

“From a _football_.”

“Exactly. You’re welcome.” Neil felt the knife waver a little at his side, and then it vanished completely, along with the warmth on his shoulder. Neil immediately straightened his hoody, pushing the hem down and around his waist, pushed one hand over his shoulder like he could erase the memory, and pushed himself up.

Turning put Andrew Minyard in his sight, though no knives. Fast, then. The gaze unfocused still, glancing over his shoulder at Kevin. Or away from Kevin. Still? Again? Neil wondered briefly what expression had been on his face when he’d been threatening to gut Neil for pushing his striker – friend? Brother? Boyfriend? – to the ground.

Neil picked his bag up. “Well that was fun,” he said, directing everything he had at Andrew, aware it wouldn’t break through, not caring. “Next time something comes at him I’ll let his face get smashed in.”

The other Minyard laughed at that, though it was low and brief, and not at all satisfying. These guys were assholes and Neil was completely done. As he was turning to go, as second Minyard and Kevin had started walking off, Andrew dug his fingers into Neil’s arm. Neil looked up, surprised.

Andrew was staring at him, looking straight into his eyes, almost frowning.

Almost.

And then he was gone.

Assholes. When Neil got back to the dorm he shared with strangers who disliked him as much as he disliked them, he went straight into the bathroom and pulled his hoody up. The smallest of scratches. Almost perfectly done, really, as far as scares from tiny bastards went. Neil pressed his thumb against it. Mapped it out on his body with the others, pulled his hoody off entirely and turned on the shower.

Under the hot beating of the shower Neil pressed one hand against his chest.

Feeling Andrew pushed against him was the most his heart had beat all week.

They were assholes. Arrogant jocks. Completely uninteresting and people Neil would probably never see again.

Except he had a shift that Sunday. It was a new job, it had taken Neil a while to find one he didn’t loathe. Library shifts were dull and he often found himself falling asleep at the desk. It was lucky the coffee shop had been hiring, or he might have been fired anyway.

Melissa, his bright-eyed coworker, explained, “Manager’s not on today so I’m the duty! Here’s your apron.” She held out a purple apron in her hand, smiling expectantly at him, so Neil took it, managed not to sigh at her. Didn’t exactly smile either.

She showed him how to open the cash register. Which buttons did what on the coffee machine. A few other things too, but Neil didn’t really pay attention to those. Money, and coffee. That’s all he really needed to know. He didn’t tell her he’d got his first job at 13.

Someone else – Becca, maybe? – turned up at 8am and then the doors were opened. For the first hour it was busy, and Neil was relegated to clean up while Becca worked the machine and Melissa took orders. Once it had calmed down Neil was allowed to start making hot drinks. And then to put sandwiches on the grill. And then to take trash out. And finally, when it seemed like very few people would turn up, to use the cash register.

He didn’t blame them. It’s not like he would smile at customers, make chitchat. He hadn’t said one word to Melissa or the other one all morning. Couldn’t see the point. If the manager turned up he’d try, maybe. If it turned out he liked this job. It was ok so far. Pointless, of course, but it paid. And he needed the money. And if he was honest he didn’t mind clean up, clearing tables and wiping surfaces and even a spill on the floor. He liked it when his body was busy, when his mind could churn over assignments, math problems, prime numbers in Spanish, escape plans. He didn’t mind working the machine either. Some of the orders were complicated enough or ridiculous enough that he found himself chuckling internally, amused by trying to work out what kind of person would order a triple-shot coconut milk cappuccino with mint _and_ hazulnut syrup. He didn’t drink anything other than black coffee, but he was a quick learner, fingers flying over the buttons and shoving the wrong-sized cups underneath nozzles as his mind wandered, as he quickly replaced cups with the right sizes.

It was fine.

It was a job.

But it was opposite the main campus entrance, so they mostly got university traffic: lecturers, parents visiting on weekends, students.

Neil had only been standing at the counter for 10 minutes, was frowning intently at the cash register trying to remember how to delete an incorrect order. “Melissa,” he had to say, voice low and quiet with disuse, “How do I fix this?” He gestured at it and Melissa smiled up at the customer, got them to repeat their order, and showed Neil with nimble fingers and a private little smile he completely ignored. Neil corrected the order, exchanged money, and gestured for the customer to go to the other side of the counter where their drink would be waiting.

“Oh,” he said. And then, “Great.”

Andrew Minyard, maybe, was staring up at the board above Neil’s head, but at Neil’s voice cut his eyes to him, quick and surprised. Focusing a little. Even raised his eyebrows. “Nothing.”

One word, dismissive, barely engaged. Andrew, then.

Neil smiled for the first time that day. A cruel, purposeful thing. “Andrew. Always a fucking pleasure.” Andrew’s gaze sharpened, and he did frown this time; and Neil was tired of being watched, of having people threaten him with knives. He gestured above his head. “Shall we get this over with?”

Andrew opened his mouth, and closed it again. He was assessing Neil, and Neil hated it. He was used to being ignored, and he pretty much relied on it staying that way. It didn’t matter how many times he reminded himself everyone who had ever tried to kill him was dead: it didn’t hurt to be invisible.

“Andrew, right?” Neil repeated, suddenly worried he’d got it wrong. Andrew nodded. “Do you even drink coffee? You know that’s what we sell here, right? Because, as much as I’m sure you’d love to believe you jocks are the centre of everything, there are other customers.”

Andrew, as slow as anything, turned his head. Just his head, his fingers still gripping the counter, the other hand in his pocket. Seeing no customers behind him, he turned back to Neil. And _smirked._

“Right,” Andrew said, slow and drawled across his mouth, an accent dripping out that Neil couldn’t place. “Busy day.”

“Do you want something or not?”

Andrew looked up at the board again, but for some reason this time Neil could tell it was for show, and he folded his arms, and did not let himself tap angry energy into his forearms. Just waited. If this was a game, he wouldn’t fold. Andrew hummed, looked at Neil, and said, “Hot chocolate.”

“Right,” said Neil, entering this into the register, “I can see how that took you so long to choose.”

“Well, it’s a Sunday,” Andrew said, as if this made any sense at all.

Neil gave him a look, to communicate that it didn’t. When Andrew didn’t elaborate, he said, “And?”

Andrew gestured vaguely at his side. “Freedom.”

Neil almost laughed at that, but he caught himself and aborted it into a huff instead. Andrew wasn’t funny, he was probably a psychopath. “Controlling boyfriend?” he guessed. Melissa had disappeared in the lull, so Neil dropped a receipt on the counter, unwilling to interact with him like a customer, like a human being, and turned to start making the hot chocolate.

Andrew moved towards the counter a little, so he could watch Neil, or watch the hot chocolate making process, Neil guessed.

“No,” Andrew said. And then added, “Gross.”

Neil finished pouring the milk into the jug and then raised an eyebrow at Andrew. “Straight?”

Andrew shook his head. “Kevin _Day_.”

And Neil did laugh at that. Or at least he grinned, turned his face and put the milk away. “Right.” Neil felt like he was repeating himself, but he felt a little untethered by how this conversation was going, the eyes following him. He shoved the jug under the steamer and turned it on.

“How hot do you like it?” asked Neil. And then blinked rapidly down at the jug. “The milk.”

He didn’t look up to see if Andrew was smiling. Because, smirks aside, he didn’t really seem like the smiling type. But he sounded not entirely bored when he answered, “Surprise me.”

Neil left the milk under for an extra ten seconds, and then turned to the cocoa. He needed a change of topic. “I didn’t think exy players were allowed hot chocolate.”

“It’s Sunday,” Andrew said again.

But Neil got it this time. Sunday, for whatever reason, meant no sidekicks, no Kevin Day, no exy obsessives to tell him to cut it out, to stick to whatever hellish diet the team’s coach had them on.

“And Sunday means freedom. And chocolate.” Neil tapped the mug to settle the drink, then hovered a hand over the syrups. He looked up at Andrew. “How surprising?”

Andrew looked away, and studied the plants at the other end of the shop. Neil picked hazelnut and caramel, splashing a little of each into the drink and giving it a stir, sprinkling marshmallows and cocoa dust on top. He sat it in front of Andrew and took the change on the counter, counting it quickly in his palm. When he looked up Andrew had already taken the drink and moved away, far away, picking a table on the other side of the shop. He sat flush against the window, back to the wall, so with just a turn of his head he could watch the world go by. Or, if he didn’t turn at all, the customers at Neil’s counter. Or the counter itself.

Neil turned away and rinsed the jug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk man. it's been a while. but i wrote a thing! it won't be very long so don't have any expectations lol. :) hedy xxx


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey :) :) :) xxx

Neil didn’t know what he was expecting for his second shift, whether it was to feel magically moved by the honour of pouring coffee. Honestly it was boring. His favourite part was still cleaning. Cleaning was something he could do. A task with an end point. Something that was satisfying, because you could get it done, because he could see the point. His least favourite part was being nice to strangers. So when Andrew walked in, Neil looked up at the clock, took note of the time – 11 again – and wasn’t sure whether what he felt was relief or anticipatory exhaustion. At least this, somehow, felt familiar. Smiling at strangers took effort. But assholes, he understood.

Andrew sauntered up to the counter, slow and tired-like, like he’d fallen out of bed and rolled here. Which maybe he had; his hair was sitting a little messier on top of his head, sunglasses on like it wasn’t the middle of October.

Neil sighed as he reached the counter. “Hi.”

Andrew pushed his shades up to sit on top of his head, and fixed his gaze on the board above Neil’s head, like he’d done before.

Neil tapped his fingers on the counter. “Aren’t you just going to just order a hot chocolate again?”

Andrew looked at him. “How do you know I’m not my brother?”

Neil was surprised by the question, had already half-turned to grab the milk. He shrugged at Andrew. “I don’t. I guessed. So. Hot chocolate?”

Andrew narrowed his eyes a little. “I’m wearing sunglasses.”

“Yeah. Rough night?”

Andrew stared at him. “Hot chocolate.”

“Ok.” Neil started making the drink, a little confused by the conversation. Out the corner of his eye he saw Andrew remove the sunglasses slowly and hook them over the top of his black shirt. Neil looked up briefly to see a few blond hairs showing at Andrew’s now visible collarbone. Neil looked away again. “What did you think of the flavour?”

“Caramel.”

“And hazelnut.”

“Couldn’t tell.”

“Ah,” said Neil, turning on the steamer and raising his voice over the noise. “No taste for subtlety.”

Andrew leaned his elbows on the counter so he could watch the process again. “No taste for time-wasting.”

Neil wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Um, so,” he said, looking up once the milk had been mixed with the cocoa, hands hovering over the syrups again. “I guess you want more syrup this time?”

Andrew shrugged and looked away once more, observing the plants, like he had last time. Neil considered. Caramel seemed like it had been a winner. He also added a lot of vanilla and a dash of coffee syrup. He was just adding the marshmallows and dusting it with cocoa when Andrew said, “Haven’t seen you here before.”

Neil was a little thrown by the abrupt change in topic, and the way Andrew phrased what normal people would word as a question. “But you have seen me before,” he said, just to get the facts straight. He set the mug in front of Andrew, wiped his hands on his apron. When Andrew didn’t answer Neil waved a hand. “We go to the same school. You introduced my hip to your knife.”

Andrew closed his eyes, slow and pained, and huffed. Neil frowned. “ _Here_. In the _coffee shop_.”

“Oh. Yeah, I just started last week.” Andrew was watching him – no, _looking_ at him, like people did in conversations, though there was something about his gaze that unsettled Neil a little – so Neil added, “I worked at the library before that. Mostly fell asleep on my keyboard.”

Andrew smirked, and it was the second time Neil was seeing his mouth curve up to the side. “Employee of the month.”

“That’s me,” said Neil. He took the money from Andrew and handed him his change, and said, “Tell me if you like it.” It hadn’t been what he’d meant to say. He’d meant to say something like _rich coming from an exy player who stabs people trying to save their star players from a ball in the face_.

Andrew raised an eyebrow, took the mug and went to sit at his table. The table at the back. Not Andrew’s table. Whatever.

An hour later, after a few disasters including a customer not getting what they’d ordered and getting haughty when Neil hadn’t given the appropriate fucks, and a very kind lecture from Melissa about putting the customer first, Neil was ready to ask for his lunch break early when Andrew reappeared at the counter. Neil snapped, “What do you want.”

Andrew paused, and then put the mug down in front of him. “Caramel,” he said, and Neil just glared at him, confused, until he remembered asking Andrew to tell him what he’d thought.

“Oh,” he said, sighing and rubbing his forehead. “Right. Sure. I mean. Yeah. Caramel. Obviously.”

Andrew tapped his fingers on the counter. “Vanilla. Coffee.”

Neil waited for more, frowned, and said, “What do you want, a prize?”

“How about a challenge,” Andrew said, before putting his sunglasses back on and leaving.

Neil didn’t look for Andrew that week. He wouldn’t have come across him anyway, he didn’t think – sure he’d seen the exy players around before, but that was usually across quads, or on posters for games, or at the one match he’d gone to 10 minutes of before something churned in his stomach and he’d had to leave.

It was weird though. Neil was a freshman and had managed not to speak more than one word to anyone since he’d started. He kept to himself, went for a run or to the library to work or to watch exy on the computers if he got bored. Maybe it was just habit, but he felt better this way. The nice guys at the FBI had said he could do whatever he wanted now – within reason, and under the remit of the law – but what he wanted was to be unbothered, to learn how not to jump at loud noises, to make his own way with the measly savings he’d been allowed to keep and the extra trickle of cash he got from his Sunday job.

He hadn’t expected a guy who’d introduced himself with a knife to his skin to be the first person to ask for his name.

Neil was tired. Lifted his hand to the steamer over and over again, pressed the espresso button, nodded whenever Melissa spoke. But he was barely there. He’d been unable to sleep last night, the pounding of music from a party thudding through his ceiling. His roommates stumbling into the room at 3am, knocking into things, eventually knocking into their beds. Neil’s eyes wide and empty staring at the bunk above him.

He thought he should have been able to sleep. Was irritated with himself for hours. Had he gotten soft? He was used to sleeping with no blankets, on floors, in cars. Used to not knowing when his next break would be.

He felt like that now. But it was weird. Nothing had happened. Nothing except waking up after three hours of sleep to shove himself towards a 7am shift. Pouring coffee. He yawned. Irritable. Even his thoughts felt slow.

At 10:30, by habit now, Neil switched with Melissa and took his place at the cash register, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet anyone’s eyes. He stared at shoulders, punched orders in the register a beat too late, stood still with his fingertips pressed into the counter.

At 11am a familiar figure walked through the door, and Neil stared at his shoes. Andrew always seemed to wear pretty much the same, whenever he had seen him around: black. Black tshirts, black hoodies, black skinny jeans… and sometimes big boots, like the kind you imagine he’d enjoy stomping on your face with. But the few times he’d come into the coffee shop he’d been wearing these same white sneakers. It was incongruous, somehow, relaxed, something Neil didn’t really associate with Andrew.

“My eyes are up here.”

Andrew was standing a foot away from the counter, and Neil dragged his eyes from his shoes up to Andrew’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said. And then, after a beat, “Oh. Hot chocolate.”

He turned, figuring he could get the milk out, when Andrew knocked once on the counter. Neil looked at the hand, white and tight against the marble top, and then glanced up into Andrew’s eyes.

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “My name is not hot chocolate.”

Neil paused, and then a grin spread across his face. He shook his head. “Right. Andrew. Hi. What’s wrong with you?”

Andrew smirked. “Hello. Now. Hot chocolate.”

“What’s the magic word?” Neil did turn this time, bent down to get out the milk and heard Andrew fold himself over the counter.

“What’s yours?”

“Huh? What’s mine what.” Neil straightened, poured milk into the jug.

“Your name.”

Neil stuck the jug under the steamer, pressed the button, waited for it to heat, turned it off. With a glance up he saw Andrew had looked away, still bent over his arms but head turned to assess the plant life, so Neil picked a ‘cookies and cream’ syrup he’d always been mystified about. His heart absolutely wasn’t thudding hard against his chest. He had a name. He could tell Andrew. No big deal.

He placed the mug on the counter in front of Andrew, but Andrew didn’t take it. Neil looked at Andrew’s blindingly white sneakers as he said, “Um. Neil. My name’s Neil.”

Andrew hummed, picked up his mug and didn’t leave. “Neil,” he said, eyes boring into Neil’s as Neil lifted his head. “You look dead by the way.” And he left.

Neil felt off for the next hour, and when it got to midday he asked Melissa if he could take his lunch break early. It was the first time he’d spoken to her all day so she nodded, high eyebrows and a kind expression that Neil couldn’t stand. He tore his apron off, made himself a coffee, and grabbed his bag with his lunch in it out from the cupboard. He ate in the break room, downed the coffee at record speed and grabbed his cigarettes. All he wanted was to be outside.

Outside was freezing, but he did his best to enjoy it anyway. Pulled his jacket tighter around himself, used cigarette smoke to cover up the smell of the nearby bins.

He was round the back, and leaning against brick, cool and firm against him, and he usually didn’t see anyone out here, but he was less surprised than he felt he should have been when Andrew appeared.

“Oh,” Neil said, smiling almost without thought, sucking on the cigarette and breathing it out. “Hot chocolate.”

Andrew stuck his hands in his pocket as he approached. “Neil. Neilio. Neil who smokes.”

“That’s my full name,” Neil said, taking another drag. “Want one?”

Andrew raised an eyebrow and pulled his own pack out. He lit one, but didn’t move, watching Neil from a couple metres away.

Neil looked back. “Did you want something?”

“Yeah,” Andrew said, low and lazy on an exhale. He tapped it against his hip, watched the ash fall. “Had a question.”

“Another one.” When Andrew looked up at him Neil added, “You know my name now.”

“I know your first name, Neil. Hardly the most exciting thing that’s happened today.”

“What’s the most exciting thing that’s happened today?” Neil brought his cigarette back to his lips, breathed in.

“I’ll let you know. Can I blow you?”

Neil choked. Hot smoke filled his lungs and scorched the back of his throat and he coughed. “Can you _what_?”

Andrew shrugged, looking less embarrassed than Neil felt. His entire upper half felt on fire. “Guess that’s a no.” He brought his cigarette back to his lips and moved towards Neil. Neil straightened in alarm, but Andrew just propped himself on the wall next to Neil, unconcerned, blowing smoke towards him.

Neil frowned at the smoke and looked away. They were silent for a few minutes, and Neil wondered if Andrew would leave. At least now he understood. He glared at his feet and said, “Is this how you normally pick up guys?”

Andrew blew out, away from him, a low, breathy noise between his teeth, and said, “Is what how?”

“Asking – that – to people you barely know?”

Neil looked up to see Andrew scrutinising him. He said, “Yes. Is that a problem?”

Neil sucked in a final drag and then threw his cigarette to the ground. “Nope.” He straightened and looked at Andrew. “Well, I guess bye then. It’s been great.” And he went back inside, slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh deary me xxx


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi my dudes i love you thank you for loving this dumb fic with me xxx

Neil stopped thinking about him then. Not that he had been, before. But that week he made a conscious effort not to look for him, not to wonder if he was going to show up that Sunday – because of course he was, Andrew Minyard didn’t seem like the kind of force that would be stopped by one awkward encounter – not that it had seemed awkward for Andrew – not that Neil cared – but if he was just _that_ , if that’s all Andrew had been after, then, well. Then Neil expected that to be it.

Neil had experience of having to reject someone outright when a subtle blanking didn’t do the job. He hated it. He knew he couldn’t blame other people for their, desires or whatever. But it made him feel shitty every single time. He didn’t understand the appeal.

And he couldn’t blame Andrew for it. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. At least it had been honest. And he hadn’t seemed that bothered by Neil not saying yes. It wasn’t the question itself that had particularly bothered Neil. It was just.

He didn’t think that had been what this was.

It was early. And he was tired. And he really didn’t want to go to work.

Neil stepped out the shower and grabbed a towel. When he was dressed he rubbed the towel through his hair and flicked a wary glance at the mirror. He still hated the way he looked, but he knew that was because he saw something no one else did. Most of the people who knew he looked like his father were either dead or out of his life. He looked away and threw the towel in his hamper. Neil didn’t know whether all that wayward hair, rogue facial scarring and stupid blue eyes added up to attractive or not and he didn’t care. He was never going to do anything about it. 

Neil grabbed his bag and walked the short walk to the coffee shop. It had been bothering him all week. Not that he cared about Andrew showing up all the time. But it had been different, having someone to talk to. Someone who he thought was only interested in his name, in stilted conversation, in his questionable drink making skills. It was more than anyone else had been. At least now he knew why Andrew had been hanging around. He frowned, and pushed open the door.

It was early, and Melissa was in a chatty mood, and Neil just took down chairs and wiped surfaces quietly, stewing in his own muddled thoughts. But it was early, and he was tired – he was always tired – and the constant stream of thought soon faded to a dull numbness.

It made sense, really. He wasn’t sure why he thought he’d been making a friend.

At 11, almost on the dot, Andrew walked through the door. The light was momentarily blinding, so Neil was able to watch him, faded out, for a second. The door shut behind him and the room was brought back into a stark white. Grounding. Calm.

Andrew walked up to the counter.

Neil didn’t quite meet his eyes as he drew himself up with an inhale of breath and said, “What can I get you.”

Andrew looked as he always did: despite the brightness of the day it was cold out, so the black hoody was back, the black skinny jeans, the too bright sneakers. His hair was soft, like it always was. The look on his face unchanging: like he was perpetually bored, like he was waiting for something.

But he stared at Neil for a minute before he spoke. A minute in which he tapped one single finger, slow and dull, against the counter, as Neil fidgeted and looked behind Andrew, hoping new customers would come in, refusing to ask again.

“What are you studying?”

Neil frowned, eyes shooting away from the door to Andrew’s bored expression. “What am I… studying?”

“You go to the university, yes?” Neil nodded and Andrew tilted his head, tapping his finger on the counter. “Studying. Learning. Some of us do that here.”

Neil glared at him. “Yeh. Thanks.”

Andrew was waiting, so Neil sighed. “You want to know what I’m studying?” Andrew nodded, but it was playful, mocking, even as his gaze slid off Neil and focused on something behind him. Neil refused to look around. “Uh. Well. I haven’t chosen a major yet, but probably math. Or languages, maybe. I don’t know.”

Andrew focused on him again, eyes slightly narrowed. “Languages. Or math.” Neil nodded. “Ok.”

Neil wasn’t sure what to do with this conversation. He was aware of Melissa hovering somewhere behind him, of the few customers in the shop paying them no attention at all. Of Andrew’s sharp attention. Neil frowned. “I am going to make you a hot chocolate now.” Andrew shrugged, like it was neither here nor there. But Neil wanted something to do, so he bent to grab the milk, aware of Andrew’s eyes tracking him like they usually did.

Andrew leaned his elbows on the counter, and said, “I never see you with anyone.”

Neil straightened, but didn’t meet his eyes. “When?”

“When.”

“When do you never see me with anyone?”

“Around.”

“You see me around?” But when Neil looked back Andrew was studying the plants again. Honestly, they were just plants. Neil didn’t know plant names, but there were three of them, in the corner. One was quite big. This was the extent of his plant knowledge. He hoped Andrew wasn’t about to ask him anything about them. He used white chocolate mix for once with some peppermint syrup and mixed it all in, adding marshmallows and cocoa dust on top.

When he finally met Andrew’s eyes, he was surprised to find himself being stared at. Andrew said, “You don’t like people.”

Neil tensed a little and said, “You don’t really know anything about me. Anyway, who are you to talk? I’ve never seen you in here with anyone.” It was true, he didn’t really like people, but he didn’t need some random guy to tell him that, so he added, with a wave to indicate Andrew’s figure – his broad shoulders, his frame – “For a jock you don’t seem very popular yourself.”

Andrew didn’t reply for what couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but was entirely long enough for Neil to feel the heat climb up his neck. Andrew smirked. “Ok,” he said, taking his hot chocolate and moving away.

Neil stopped thinking about it. Him. Whatever. But he felt a perpetual small frown on his face for the next hour, as he served tables, as he moved to clean tables. He didn’t have to clean Andrew’s table, because he was still there an hour later, mug empty, staring out the window, or busy on his phone.

He wasn’t thinking about it, and he certainly didn’t care, but he was just clearing dirty mugs onto a tray when something occurred to him. He wiped the table with extra vigour, sorting through his thoughts. Then he went over to Andrew’s table, dripping cloth twisting between his fingers. Andrew had been watching him, so he merely flicked his eyes upwards and raised an eyebrow. Neil said, “What do you study?”

Andrew reached for his empty mug. His phone was lying upside down on the table, his fingers tapping against porcelain. Eventually he said, “Guess.”

Neil let out an annoyed breath, looked round – there were a few customers around, but Melissa and her friend had taken over the counter, and Neil was all caught up on the tables – and sat in the chair across from Andrew. He let the wet cloth sit in his lap for a second and then jolted, holding it out to the side. He looked at it, considering, and said, “Well. I don’t really know anything about you.”

“That’s not true,” Andrew said.

So, Neil thought about it. He shrugged. And then smiled. And said, “Well. You _are_ a jock, I’m not taking that back. But you clearly don’t care about your diet. Or making friends. Those aren’t very jock-like qualities.” When he glanced at Andrew he was just looking at him, so Neil continued, “Something easy, because you don’t have time for anything too serious, but unpredictable, like it’s not going to be _geography_ or something.”

“Sure,” said Andrew, neither an agreement or dismissal.

“Sports science,” Neil said with a smirk, enunciating each syllable slow and teasing.

Andrew rolled his eyes. “A contradiction of terms. Next.”

“Hmm.” Neil looked out the window, thinking. Almost absently he said, “English lit?”

When he looked back at Andrew, his expression had changed. Darkened. Narrowed. Neil smiled. “Oh wow. English lit? _Really?”_

“You really,” Andrew started, and then set his jaw and leaned back in his chair. “Comparative lit, actually.”

“Easy, but unpredictable.”

Andrew sighed. “Clearly not,” he mused, tipping his mug and looking into the empty contents. “Comparative lit isn’t _easy_ ,” he said to it.

“No, sure,” said Neil. “I can read too.”

Andrew looked at him.

“Books are nice,” Neil said, outright grinning now.

Andrew held up his mug. “Peppermint.”

Neil leaned back in his chair. “Did you like it?” Andrew shrugged. “That’s a yes.” Neil smiled, his heart settling a little in his chest, his limbs into the seat. “I can make it again for you some time.”

Andrew just looked at him. “Sure.”

“You know,” Neil started, looking out the window, “I’m surprised you don’t have strong opinions about this.” He looked back. “You seem like you’d have strong opinions about hot chocolate.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well. You made it sound like you’re a regular here. Isn’t hot chocolate your regular Sunday order?”

Andrew looked away. But he scoffed, although it was pointed at the window. “You think too much.”

Neil wasn’t sure what to say to that. So he just let the smirk tug at his mouth. “About you? A baseless accusation.”

Andrew glared at him. “Don’t you have a job to do,” he said, gesturing behind Neil. When Neil looked round there were, indeed, quite a lot of customers in the shop, nearing the lunch rush.

“Oh, shit,” said Neil, standing and waving at Andrew with his dirty rag. After a second’s hesitation, Andrew waved back, and Neil left, collecting the tray of dirty mugs on his way to the counter.

For a while he just took tickets and made drinks, and the monotony of it was relaxing, and he felt some of the exhaustion lifting, like pushing himself through something physical somehow made him less tired. Eventually the queue subsided a little, and Melissa leaned back against the back counter, smiling dangerously at him. Neil looked at her, then turned away, ready to leave and start cleaning again.

“He’s cute.”

Neil bent down to grab the tray and a clean cloth. “Hmm?” he said, barely paying attention.

Becca or Becky or whatever blocked his path, crossed her arms and whispered to Melissa, “Oh yeah the guy. He is. You know in that dangerous kind of way.”

Neil had no idea what was going on, but the girl was in his way, so he looked back at Melissa. “Ok.”

“Is he your... _friend?”_ Melissa had a cautious look on her face and when Rebecca moved past him she was grinning.

Neil frowned. “No. Why?”

Melissa shrugged. “I’m just saying, Neil. He’s _cute_. And he obviously likes you. You should ask for his number.”

“He... he doesn’t like me,” Neil said, quietly, because – although he was facing the other way, he knew Andrew was still sat in the corner of the coffee shop, feet up on one chair, a small paperback in his lap – and with conviction, because – although it wasn’t totally true it felt more true than anything else. It wasn’t his phone number Andrew had asked for last week.

Becca sighed, all pained. “Oh Neil. It’s ok if you’re gay you know. It’s cool. You can _tell us_.”

Which sort of pissed him off. He glared at her. “Oh, it’s _ok_ is it, that’s really good to know, thanks. You know what if you want to come out as straight as all fuck that’s fine too I guess, though I actually couldn’t care less about your sexuality because it couldn’t be any less of my business. Can I go clean now?”

He turned then, grabbing his stuff and straightening and made his way over to the table furthest from the counter. Which happened to be the table next to Andrew’s. Neil angrily shoved mugs onto his tray, aware of Andrew standing, and stretching, and grabbing his phone and his book, and turning towards Neil. Neil ran his cloth over the table half-heartedly. Andrew was stood near him when he said, all curious, “And I thought you were quiet.” Neil kept his eyes on the table as Andrew left, wiping at a stain he knew was a lost cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feat! sad boys and flirty boys and you-dont-know-me boys and actually-not-quiet boys


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hihi thanku for being nice i like you all, even when writing is the absolute hardest for no good reason xxx

The next Sunday Neil had a plan. A talking plan. It was a plan to rid his brain of thought, so he could stop analysing this. He was going to ask Andrew what his fucking deal was. That was the plan.

The plan was a little derailed.

Neil was almost anxious to see Andrew. Not because he enjoyed his company. He didn’t really enjoy the company of anyone: he found most people either too sincere or too dishonest. But for some reason Andrew was neither. He felt like he was honest with Neil, maybe. Maybe Neil was just growing soft. But he seemed like he had nothing to lose by lying. Because he didn’t seem to care about Neil. But he also wasn’t sentimental. Again, maybe, because he had no stake in Neil. He’d asked Neil for something, and Neil had said no. So he didn’t know what was left. Neil was just... he didn’t know. Interesting, maybe.

Andrew was certainly interesting to him.

He’d figure him out.

Then he’d move on.

The first thing that happened the following Sunday was a blonde girl around his height bounding into the shop and smiling at Neil. He just stared at her. Melissa came to stand next to him and he realised it was her the girl was staring at. “Marissa!”

Neil tightened his fingers around the counter. And looked to his side. “Katelyn, babe, what’s up?” his co-worker said, an easy smile on her face and a glance at Neil.

Oh. “You let me call you Melissa,” Neil said.

She – Marissa – shrugged, grinning. “You’re cute,” she answered, completely unbashful. Neil looked away, suddenly uninterested in this. Katelyn was smiling at both of them. “To be fair to me, I didn’t know about... you know,” Marissa said in a stage whisper.

Neil just turned away to wipe down the coffee machine.

Marissa took her place at the register and chatted to Katelyn, and Neil heard the words _skinny latte_ and started making it, almost instinct by now.

And then Andrew came in.

Neil looked up, soft blonde hair drawing him in against the backdrop of a sky-grey day.

And then he frowned.

Blue jeans. Black sneakers.

He narrowed his eyes. Kept making the latte.

A hand snaked around Katelyn’s waist, and Neil flexed, instinctively, and then relaxed all in one beat. Oh.

“What do you want?” Neil said over the coffee machine, directing it at Other Minyard.

Other Minyard raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, new kid, why don’t you just keep making Katelyn’s drink and I’ll let you know when I’ve thought about it.”

Neil looked up at the clock. It was 11am. “Where’s Andrew?”

Other Minyard raised both eyebrows at that. “What?”

And then Andrew was walking through the door, Kevin at his back, looking as disengaged as always except, he was lacking – something. Sunglasses, maybe. White sneakers were gone. He was in all black today, combat boots raising his height a little, arms folded. Tense.

Neil smiled at him. “Hey.”

There was a moment of quiet, in which each member of the foursome _did not_ look at Andrew, in which Marissa looked at Neil.

Neil waited.

Andrew sighed. “Hello.”

When nothing else seemed forthcoming, Neil moved to get the milk. “Hot chocolate?”

Irritating Asshole Minyard said, “That’s not what I want.”

“It’s not for you,” Neil said, not looking at him.

“I was here first?”

Marissa said, “Aaron, don’t worry, I’ll make you a drink.” Aaron, then. Neil thought his name for the guy was better. “Neil knows Andrew always orders a hot chocolate, that’s all.” Neil tensed. He looked up. Andrew was glaring at the plants.

“ _Always?”_ echoed Aaron, confused. He didn’t look at his brother, but at Kevin.

So it was Kevin who frowned at Andrew. “You come here?” he asked. Neil waited for it. “Hot chocolate, Andrew, seriously?”

Andrew half-turned like he was done with this.

“Wait,” Neil said, finishing off the drink quickly. “Do you want this to go?”

Andrew paused, and looked back at him. And then, without looking at any of his friends, stalked to the other end of the counter, hands in his pockets. “No,” he said.

“Ok,” said Neil, feeling his lips tug into a smile. When he dusted the drink with cocoa and looked up to Andrew, it looked like he was watching his mouth.

“You forgot syrups,” Andrew said, eyes flicking to the drink.

“Oh.” Neil looked at it. Then at the bottles of syrup. He handed the mug to Andrew. “Get started.” Andrew hesitated only a second, and then got comfy, arms folding over the counter and watching as Neil started moving the syrups closer.

“Neil,” said Marissa, “the skinny latte? And I need two black coffees.”

“It’s there,” Neil said, waving at the abandoned latte. “Can you get the coffees?” He glanced at Andrew. And then looked back at her, gesturing. “I’m with a customer right now.”

Marissa giggled, which was annoying, but bearable if it meant Neil got to hang out with Andrew instead of work. Andrew just looked at him, unimpressed, and Neil got more syrups out.

The rest of the group took their drinks and went to sit down at a table across the room, but Neil didn’t miss the looks he was receiving. He didn’t care. “Right,” he said, looking at Andrew. “What haven’t we tried.”

Andrew was assessing syrup labels, picking up _mandarin orange_ and putting it down again. “This isn’t my job,” he stated, picking up his mug with one hand while still leaning on his other arm. He blew gently at the top.

Neil looked away. “No,” he said eventually. “Your job is not to make hot chocolate. You’re supposed to order what you want though.” He hovered one hand over _mandarin orange_ and the other over _christmas surprise._ “What do you think?”

Andrew didn’t say anything, but his eyes did flicker towards the orange. Neil smiled as Andrew picked one of the marshmallows off the top, took a sip, and then shoved the mug towards him, popping the marshmallow in his mouth. Neil applied a liberal amount of orange syrup and stirred it before pushing the mug back towards Andrew. He leant against the counter as Andrew lifted the mug to blow on it again.

Neil glanced behind him, where he was being assessed by two sets of eyes. Katelyn was the only one looking away – at Aaron, one hand on his arm.

“So,” Neil said quietly, eyes flicking back to Andrew’s. “Friends of yours?”

Andrew paused mid-gulp, coughed, and set his mug down. He coughed again, and swallowed, rough, like he was clearing his throat from sticky orange syrup. He sighed, staring down at the counter too. “He’s funny too,” he said, dully.

Neil nodded. “That’s me. Funny. Not quiet. Easy maker of friends.” He turned away to put the syrups back.

“Right,” Andrew said, a sarcastic look to either side of him. “I am practically being swarmed with them.” When Neil looked back Andrew added, “Your friends.”

Maybe it should have felt like a slight. It didn’t. Neil grinned. “Maybe the mugs are my friends.”

“How sad.” Andrew’s gaze unfocused, as he sipped at his drink and looked at something behind Neil. “And the plants?”

“Oh they’re not my friends,” Neil said. “Friends don’t let friends die of dehydration.”

Andrew smirked, flicking a look at him. “You should get that on a fridge magnet.”

“Or a bumper sticker.”

“It’s too long for a bumper sticker.”

“Honk if your friends let you die of dehydration.”

“Honk if you have trouble keeping your friends alive.”

“That’s just weird.” Neil felt content and twitchy all at the same time, so he grabbed a cloth and started wiping down the counters, for something to do.

Neil almost managed to forget about Andrew’s group. They chatted at the counter, Neil making drinks orders when he needed to, slipping extra hot milk or cocoa or mandarin orange into Andrew’s mug whenever it seemed required, ranting about exy.

“It’s just a sport.”

“So?”

Andrew frowned at him. “It’s meaningless. You’re getting worked up over something meaningless.”

Neil opened his mouth and closed it again. He crossed his arms. _Worked up._ “I am not getting worked up. I just don’t like it. What’s the point.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, why are you their starting goalie if it’s so meaningless?”

Andrew, who had been stacking clean mugs on top of the coffee machine, paused, and looked at Neil. “How do you know what position I play if it’s so meaningless?”

“Oh, I don’t,” said Neil. _Wait, what?_ He shook his head. “I mean, obviously I do.”

“Go on,” said Andrew, moving to settle against the counter again, lifting his third hot chocolate top up to his mouth.

“I mean, it’s not that I know,” Neil said with a rush, pushing his sleeves up, finding a pen to tuck in his apron pocket. “You’re fucking everywhere, aren’t you.”

“Am I.”

“The exy team. It’s all this school talks about.”

“Is it.”

“Oh shut up.” Neil felt embarrassed and he had no idea why.

Andrew smirked.

“Andrew, let’s go.” Suddenly Kevin was stretching his long body out and Aaron and Katelyn were already standing by the door.

Andrew straightened up, looking behind him. “Fine.” He looked in his mug and downed the rest of the contents.

Before he could leave though, Kevin came over. And held out his hand. And said, “Hi. We never really met before. I’m Kevin Day.”

Neil raised an eyebrow at him and folded his arms. “Yes. I’m aware.”

Andrew waited a beat, then sighed. “And you’re Neil.”

“I suppose,” said Neil.

Kevin frowned at him. “Ok.” He lowered his hand. And glanced at Andrew. And said in a lowered tone, “What are you doing?”

“Didn’t we have to go,” said Andrew, pushing Kevin Day out in front of him. “Say bye to your little friend.”

“What? _My_ –” but Kevin was being shoved, and Andrew wasn’t looking back.

And Neil realised he’d forgotten to do his plan. So he called out, “Andrew –” and Andrew turned, one hand on the open door, his friends huddled outside, waiting. “Um,” said Neil, trying hard to hold onto what his plan had been. “See you next Sunday?”

Andrew’s eyes bunched into a frown. And he left.

Neil was cleaning the coffee machine, annoyed, and tired, and ready to be done. At least he no longer felt guilty that he’d been apparently calling Marissa the wrong name for weeks now. She had spent most of the rest of their shift giving him weird glances and giggling with Other Girl and Neil cleaned and ignored them and took his lunch break outside and waited for his shift to be over.

At 5pm, just as they were about to close a little early for lack of customers, Andrew came back.

Neil didn’t notice, he was slumped over the end counter, head in his hand, but Marissa nudged him upright and whispered, not very quietly, “It’s your favourite customer.”

Neil glared at her, then looked up, and said, “Oh. Andrew.” He stepped over to the till, Andrew standing at the counter with his hands stuffed in the pockets of a dark bomber jacket, hood half-hidden and half-pulled out. Looking at him. “You’re back?”

“Good observation skills.”

“You ditched the friends.”

Andrew sighed, pained. “I thought we went over this.”

“Family, then,” corrected Neil. Andrew didn’t say anything to that, but he did have an odd expression on his face, one Neil couldn’t quite work out. Neil looked pointedly at Marissa until she sighed and went through to the back room. Other Girl had left already, so it was just him and Andrew. “So,” Neil said, unsure.

“What were you going to say.”

Neil frowned, titled his head. Shoved his hands in his pockets and took them back out again. “When?”

“Earlier.” Andrew put his hands flat on the counter. “See you next Sunday,” he said, slow and sarcastic, and as if he couldn’t help it his lips curving into a smirk around the words.

Neil rolled his eyes. “Nothing. That. I was going to say that.”

Andrew gazed at him, his eyes assessing, and for once he didn’t seem to be dissociating, or staring at the plants, or letting his eyes focus away from Neil’s. After one hard finger tap on the counter he said, “It’s my birthday.”

Neil frowned. “Like...”

Andrew raised an eyebrow, shoved his hands back in his pockets. “Like, it’s my birthday. Today.”

“Oh.” Neil felt gifted with this information and didn’t know what to do with it. _“Ohh,”_ he said again. “I get it.” Andrew didn’t say anything, so Neil shifted to his other foot, grabbed a cloth at random and said, “You’re never here with people. But your family. Your twin brother. Because it’s your birthday. I get it.”

“Right,” said Andrew, and it was almost like he wasn’t sure why he’d said anything, and Neil didn’t want him to leave thinking Neil was entirely incompetent.

So he said, “Well. Happy birthday.”

Andrew hesitated. Looked at the plants as he said, “Thanks.” There were a few seconds when Andrew was just looking at the plants, and Neil was considering what to wipe his sort-of-clean cloth at next, but then Andrew said, without looking at him, “Neil –”

The door opened behind him, and Neil stiffened, annoyed at the interruption, wondering if his shift would ever end.

It was Aaron. Who had apparently come to glare at Andrew. “Are you done yet? Can we go?”

Neil hadn’t noticed the black car pulled up out front, maybe hosting Andrew’s entire group. He was surprised. What had Andrew dragged them all back for?

Andrew barely looked at Aaron, didn’t even respond to his words.

“We’re going to be late,” said Aaron, when it was clear his brother wasn’t going to speak, one hand still on the door. “If you’re done with the gay shit.”

Neil felt heat creep up his neck. And then anger. Who did this guy think he was? “What the fuck?” Neil said, and Aaron at last turned a bored, uncaring gaze on him. “Who the fuck are you?”

He’d instinctively disliked this guy the second he’d met him.

But Andrew cut him off. “It’s nothing,” he said, waving a hand in Neil’s general direction, and turning back to his brother.

Neil’s mouth closed, words dying in his throat.

Andrew walked out ahead of his brother, and Aaron shot Neil a dirty look, and let the door close softly behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which andrew tells a cute boy it's his birthday and we all collectively die inside and mourn the lack of communication skills


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more chapters than i said because that's just who i am at this point x

Neil was furious.

Which was different, though not exactly new. He remembered anger like the hot slick of a sweaty day running down his back, or the paralysing weight of his fingernails digging into his palm, or the heavy pound of shoes against the sidewalk.

So he went for a run.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d run. School, maybe. Exy training when he was much smaller. Track team when he was in middle school. Not after that, he didn’t think.

_Well_ , he thought bitterly, out of breath and heart clenching in his chest, _not that kind of running anyway._

He paused, hands on his thighs, just for a moment, closed his eyes, sucked air into his lungs and pushed forward again.

It hurt.

And he forgot how good that felt.

He ran every morning that week. Faster, and further, and his legs ached all the way through his classes, and his back throbbed as he turned restlessly in bed at night. It felt good. Felt good to have something that was his, something which made him feel real, alive.

Since he clearly couldn't use Andrew for that anymore.

And then it was Sunday, and he glared at the ceiling, and cursed his alarm, and fuck it went for a quick fifteen minute run, and had a hot shower, and arrived at work too late to help set up, walking through the door as fucking Melissa or Marissa or who fucking ever was turning the _open/closed_ sign over.

She frowned at him. “Hey, I was wondering where you were... everything ok?”

“Yep,” Neil said, teeth gritted, dropping his bag behind the counter and kicking it onto an empty shelf, tying his apron round himself. He sucked in a breath and said to his hands, “I’m just late. Sorry.” He wasn’t sorry at all, but he knew that Marissa cut him slack all the time as the duty manager, felt like he might need to take advantage of that a little today. He could feel nails pressing into palm.

Marissa pursed her lips at him, then just nodded, “Ok. It’s no problem. Where do you want to be?”

Neil settled himself behind the coffee machine, attempted not to cross his arms, shoved his hands in his pockets, waited for the first customer.

He was so intent on starting up the coffee machine, zoned out on the soft gurgling noises, eyes wandering over metal, and not really focusing on anything, that he didn’t notice who their first customer even was until he heard a familiar voice say, “Hot chocolate.”

Neil looked up. And felt Marissa’s eyes on him. And was met with soft blonde hair. And opened his mouth. And closed it. He looked at the clock on the wall.

Andrew tapped a single finger on the counter. “What can I say. I’m unpredictable.”

Neil looked at him. Really looked. Took in his soft hair, and his impenetrable expression, his stupid hard fingers on the counter. And hardened. “It’s seven in the fucking morning.”

“So?”

“So you can’t have a hot chocolate.” Marissa took a not-so-subtle step away from the counter. “No one drinks hot chocolate this early.”

“Hey,” Andrew was clicking his fingers in the direction of Marissa, without taking his eyes off Neil. “What happened to the customer is always right?”

“Oh, did I not mention,” Neil said, moving forward and feeling his hands curl into fists, “fuck off.”

Andrew assessed him, his expression not moving a fraction, not that Neil expected it to, not for something as inconsequential as him, since he was apparently fucking nothing.

“Well?” Neil said.

Andrew did look at Marissa then, something scornful in his eyes, and said with barely concealed contempt, “Neil here is getting a little tired. You should give him a break.”

“No,” Neil said. Why wasn’t anyone listening to him?

Marissa looked at him. And cleared her throat. “Neil, if you want –”

“No I don’t fucking want.” He glared at Andrew again. “I told you to fuck off, I’m not sure how much clearer you want me to be.”

“Five minutes.” Andrew said this quick, almost like sucking in breath, like giving away something painful, and it made Neil’s fists tighten, made the air in his lungs contract, made everything hurt. Andrew had barely broken eye contact in the short minute he’d been there.

Neil clenched his jaw. “Whatever,” he said, breaking eye contact himself to shoot Marissa a quick look. “I won’t be long,” he muttered, shoving himself through the back door and assuming Andrew could take the long way round.

He felt stupid, standing there with his purple apron on, arms folded and leaning against the back wall of the coffee shop, barely awake and furious and not sure why he was conceding anything to this asshole, and in the minute it took for Andrew to round the corner he felt his anger crash away from him into a small, stupid, worthless feeling, settled and nauseous in the pit of his stomach.

So when he said, “What do you want, Andrew?” to the ground, it came out less sure than he’d wanted it to be. He let his fingernails bite into his elbows.

He wasn’t looking up when Andrew said, “I thought we should talk,” so he couldn’t analyse Andrew’s expression, though the words sounded as uninterested as they always did, and actually he thought it might be easier like this, so he let his gaze settle on a far wall.

“Yep, you made that clear.” He just wanted this over with, whatever this was.

Andrew didn’t try to move closer, just stood a few feet away, didn’t even get a cigarette out, though Neil thought maybe that was more due to the earliness of the hour than the moment itself.

“You’re upset.”

“With you?” Neil tried to scoff, but it came out like cough, like a hurt noise, and he leaned harder against brick, wishing he could melt into it.

“About last week. Aaron.” Andrew didn’t elaborate. Neil didn’t need him to.

He scuffed his feet. He wasn’t sure what to say. So he reused words. “What do you want?”

He didn’t hear Andrew move closer, but suddenly there was a hand in his peripheral vision, holding tightly onto something. A paper something. A ticket?

Neil frowned, leaned away from the wall. Looked at Andrew’s hand. “What’s that?”

Andrew’s voice was low and gruff when he said, “We have a home game on Friday night. This is a ticket. For the game.”

Neil had to look at him then. He had to. Because – “What?”

Andrew glared at him, just kept holding the ticket, so Neil reached a hand out and took it from him. The second he did Andrew shoved his hands in his pockets, and nodded, and said, “Good. So you’re coming.” Neil just kept frowning until Andrew waved his hand at the ticket still limp in Neil’s grip. “To the game. On Friday. You’ll come.”

Neil looked at the ticket. Then back at Andrew. “Um. Ok,” he said.

“Ok,” Andrew said, nodding again. He looked at Neil one last time, something complicated in his expression, something almost decipherable, but then he just shook his head, and said, “Nice hair,” and walked off.

Neil reached the hand that wasn’t holding his ticket to Andrew’s fucking exy game up to the top of his head and was met with a mound of very puffy still-damp hair.

When he finally went back inside, the ticket stuffed in his back pocket, he stepped into the staff bathroom, glanced at his reflection and ran a hand through his hair, trying to pat it down a little, before retaking his post at the counter.

Marissa was serving a customer, but when she’d finished she looked back at Neil, concerned and curious. “Everything ok?”

Neil felt tight. And uncertain. And directed his words at the coffee machine. “Yup.”

“Um, ok.”

“Yes it is.”

“Right. Can you make me a cappuccino?”

An hour later, Neil was angry again. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Showing up all the time, keeping him company. Offering to do shit Neil didn’t want. Not didn’t want, but. Hadn’t wanted. Not that there was a difference. He didn’t want it now. Maybe he thought he had. But no, not with some dickhead who clearly hadn’t wanted to talk to him in front of his friends, who had dismissed him without a second’s thought to his brother.

At break Neil grilled a sandwich and ate outside, sitting on concrete, letting something cool about the ground and the air focus him, took in a deep breath. Closed his eyes.

A couple of hours later, Marissa and Rebecca were talking in hushed voices at the counter, looking over at Neil while he cleared tables. When he came back to the counter Rebecca grinned at him and said, “So. I hear Andrew came in early today. What did he want?”

Neil slammed his tray down. And glared at it. “To invite me to his next exy game. I mean.” He gestured at the counter. “I don’t even _like_ exy.”

There was a pause. And then Rebecca laughed into her hand, and turned away to clear her throat, and Neil looked up, and Marissa, with a patient smile on her face, said, “I don’t think it’s exy Andrew is hoping to convince you of.”

“Yeah?” Neil said, loading the dishwasher with extra force. “Funny, I don’t remember asking.” He grabbed his cloth and went to clean the tables again.

They were finishing closing up when he noticed the car.

He took off his apron, hung it up, grabbed his bag, and slammed outside .

He was going to knock on the window but Andrew got out at his approach, shut the door, leaned against his car, so fucking casually.

Neil felt his fists curl into themselves. There was a moment’s silence where they just looked at each other, Andrew with his legs crossed at the ankles, and his arms crossed, hands crushed into his elbows, the muscles of his broad shoulders clear under a tight black long-sleeved t-shirt, his dark frame blending in with the sleekness of the black car. His soft, light hair, curling at his ears. Round a single black studded earring.

And then Neil took in a deep, slow, tight breath, and said, “Fuck you. I’m _nothing?_ And then what, you just invite me to your game? What even is that? Do you think I can be bought? You think I’m so easily impressed? Do you even remember me telling you I hate exy? And jocks? And you, for that matter? You’re a dickhead. I’m _nothing_ , apparently, which is fucking fine I’m not sure what you expect from me. You’re the one bothering me all the time, you’re the one with the – I mean why have you even been talking to me. I said _no._ Well, I didn’t but I – I mean, it’s still a no. I’m not that guy, Andrew. I’m just not. I’m just the guy who serves you hot chocolate. That’s all. And I never asked for – for anything more. And _you’re_ just a spineless asshole who’s afraid of what his family thinks of him. So what are you even doing back here?” He took a deep breath and looked away, crossed his arms, and muttered, “I fucking hate this job.”

And Andrew laughed.

Neil looked back, sharp. The hint of a smile lingered on Andrew’s face, but the laughter had been low, not much more than a huff of amusement, a curl of sound that shifted through Neil. Andrew sighed, smile still there, and looked at the ground, shifting away from the car. “Ok. You done?”

Neil thought about it. And took a step forward. “Maybe.”

“Ok.” Andrew unfolded his arms, pressed his hands into his pockets, took a step forward too. They were just a couple of feet apart now, and Neil tried not to look directly at Andrew, but he couldn’t really help it. The smile was gone, amused expression replaced with that casual seriousness Neil used to think of as dulled disinterest. “I’m not afraid of Aaron.”

Neil frowned. “Really? Is that the most important thing here?”

“Yes,” said Andrew, eyes not breaking contact for a second. “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. Not them. Not you. Caring what other people think of you is pointless.”

“So, then –”

“I couldn’t be bothered to deal with him last week. He’s a pain in the ass.”

“Ok...”

“He’ll be at the game, you know.”

“I know.”

“And Kevin. The whole team. They will all be there. And you will, too.”

Neil pursed his lips. “Maybe.”

“Ok,” Andrew said, nodding, unbothered. “I’m just explaining. If I cared, I would not have given you that ticket.”

“Oh.” Neil didn’t want to, but he reached a hand round to his pocket, just to check. It was still there. He stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “Right.”

Andrew looked thoughtful again. Flicking his eyes over Neil and clocking onto his eyes before speaking in that slow, quiet, low drawl of his. “I don’t think you can be bought. You make it pretty clear what your opinions are. I don’t buy you hating exy. You talk about it too fucking much for someone who hates it. You know my position on the team, you know enough about it to rant about Kevin’s decisions. I know hating the fucking thing, and you don’t hate it.” He looked away, taking one hand out his pocket and twirling his car keys in his hand. Thinking. “You said no. You’ll notice I haven’t asked again. Some of us had forgotten all about it, moved on with our lives.” He looked back, once, and said, “You’re ridiculous. You have anger issues. You undercharge me for extra syrups. I hate everything about you. Your hair, your –” He gestured up and down the length of Neil’s body, eyes flickering with it, “all of it.” He took another step forward, right into Neil’s space, keys still curled around his fingers, lifted his other hand to reach into Neil’s hair, slow so that Neil could move away if he wanted to. He didn’t. Andrew’s fingers shifted through his hair and Neil’s eyes closed, involuntarily, and nothing existed except Andrew’s hand pushing back a loose strand of hair, fingers scratching gently over his scalp. Delicate. And because his eyes were closed, he felt Andrew’s breath against his cheek more than he heard the murmured words, “You aren’t _nothing_.” And then the hand was gone, and the breath, and the closeness, and Neil heard the closing of a car door, the roar of an engine, wheels against tarmac.

And Neil stayed where he was. And with his eyes still closed let out a deep, shaky breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neil, during this chapter: you're only here for hot chocolate. asshole. *looks at andrew*
> 
> andrew, during this chapter: I have not had even one lick of hot chocolate this chapter. why am I even here. *looks at neil*
> 
> me, just writing this chapter, casual bystander: *I Am Looking*
> 
> xxx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry there has been a *delay* in both getting this out and this actually ending when i said it would lolol xx

Neil kept up the running. And the feeling of disquiet. He wasn’t sure what it was. He wanted to label it anger, still. Like the feeling of not knowing who was about to walk round the corner. The feeling of being backed _into_ a corner.

Neil hated feeling like there was nowhere to run.

Even when his feet were pounding against concrete.

All he could think about was Andrew.

So he told himself he was angry. This guy was – Andrew – he didn’t make any fucking sense.

The exy ticket was stashed in the top drawer of his desk, shoved to the back, so he didn’t have to see it, think about it.

He thought about it a lot.

Andrew didn’t give him a choice.

On Monday, after his run and his shower and his crappy breakfast ignoring the guys who didn’t seem to like him, he made his way to the math faculty. He had Spanish in a couple of hours, needed to work on his assignment. The library in the main building was his favourite place to work. He started climbing up the wide steps.

Andrew, leaning against the brick wall beside the door, unopened pack of cigarettes in his hand, said, “Neil.”

Neil stopped, a little startled. He wasn’t expecting his name to be thrown around in such a casual manner. Not on campus. He frowned. “Andrew?”

“Yes,” said Andrew, like it really needed confirming. He pushed away from the wall. Neil moved his feet up the last step. Needed his meagre few inches of height advantage right now.

“What are you doing here?”

“Seeing you,” said Andrew, faint amusement on his face even as his gaze slid to the side of Neil.

Neil glanced to the side too, watched students walking in and out the building. No one was paying any attention to them. Neil looked back to Andrew. Blonde hair curling against a dark scarf tucked below his bomber jacket. It looked cosy. “It isn’t Sunday.”

“He knows the days of the week too,” said Andrew. He hitched his bag higher on his shoulder, half of it dangling off. Neil couldn’t look away from Andrew’s eyes. “Maybe I wanted to check you were a real boy.”

Neil pushed his hands in his pockets. “We’ve met on campus before, remember? It’s _how_ we met.”

“I remain unconvinced.”

“That it’s how we met or that I’m a real boy?”

Andrew cocked his head to the side, eyes gliding deliciously over Neil’s face. “Both. Neither. I’m undecided.”

“Right,” said Neil, licking dry lips and popping his bottom lip in his mouth for a second. He felt – weird. Andrew was watching him. “If you’ve finished being weird I have work to do.”

“Great, me too,” said Andrew, like he was being serious, even though his eyes were dancing with humour. Neil thought this might be the cheeriest he had ever seen Andrew, even as blank as his expression still was. Andrew moved and held the door open. “Shall we? Education awaits.”

Neil let Andrew into the mathematics library. It was card access, but not hard to squeeze through the barrier with two bodies.

Neil worked, and Andrew folded paper and cut it up into tiny pieces with his fingernails, and flicked bits across Neil’s notebook, sometimes with notes scribbled on like _the rain in spain falls mainly on the plain,_ and _working that hard will give you wrinkles_ , and _tengo un día. si lo sé aprovechar, tengo un tesoro._

At the last one Neil looked up. “This is Spanish.”

Andrew shrugged, concentrating on colouring a small square of paper entirely in black ink. “It’s Gabriela Mistral.”

Neil had never heard of them. “That doesn’t make it not Spanish.”

“It’s not _just_ Spanish, is my point, if you are listening.”

Neil was. He was listening. Was so focused on Andrew’s energy, across the table, he’d had to frown hard at the words dancing across his notebook. Could feel tiny trembles in the table as Andrew scribbled. Felt a jolt of pleasure every time torn paper danced across his page. At looking up to watch a head of blonde hair, ducked and concentrating on inane tasks.

Thought he could drink Andrew in all day.

“You know Spanish?”

Andrew lifted his eyes. “Comparative lit major. But no, not really.” He returned to his square. There was a corner left to blacken.

Neil smiled down at his gift, tucked it into his pocket. Wondered, as he picked up his pen, and didn’t look at Andrew, what he’d regard as treasure.

When Neil had to leave for his Spanish lecture, Andrew followed him. Not inside, but all the way to the language building. They walked in silence, Neil’s hands warm in his pockets. Outside the door he turned to Andrew and said, “Well.”

Andrew flicked him a look. “See you tomorrow, Neil.” Said his name with such thought, like he was trying it out, trying it on for size, like he was pulling it apart and keeping the pieces he liked.

Neil was so lost in thought, so dazed by Andrew’s behaviour, words, thinking of his name on Andrew’s lips and paper flicking across his desk, that he didn’t even parse Andrew’s words until he’d gone, until Neil was inside and unloading his backpack. Smiling down at his textbook.

Neil didn’t go to the math building at the same time the next day on purpose, or anything.

He looked at himself in the mirror, avoiding his eyes. He had no idea what he saw. For the first time in his life wondered if he should replace tshirts when they got a hole in the shoulder. He pulled his jacket tighter over his body, shouldered his bag and left for the math building.

Andrew was stood outside. With his copycat.

Neil faltered. Were they waiting for him, or maybe Aaron was just here for class or something?

Andrew saw him and stilled. He was still already, but the small bounce to his foot where it was propped up behind him stopped, and Neil stopped a few metres away. “Hi.”

“Hello,” said Andrew. After a second he very slowly and dangerously turned his head to look at Aaron.

Aaron was glaring at Neil. At Andrew’s look he turned the glare on his brother. “What am I doing here Andrew? I have class in five minutes.”

Andrew waved a hand at Neil. “This is Neil.”

“I fucking _know_ ,” said Aaron.

Neil was suddenly enjoying himself immensely.

“Great. You can go now. Neil, we have work to do, yes?” Andrew held the door open and Neil grinned at Aaron, and slipped through.

They were quiet until they were at their table. Neil unshouldered his bag and tried not to smile.

Andrew, looking through his bag for a pad of paper and a black pen, said, “Never accuse me of being afraid of my brother.”

And Neil let his lips curl into a small smile, aimed it down at his assignment. “Ok, Andrew.”

Neil had work to do, but he was distracted. Let Andrew distract him.

He asked, “So what’s Aaron’s deal?”

Andrew looked unimpressed, like this was an unanswerable question.

Neil pressed, “I’m interested.”

“Why?”

Neil shrugged. Looked down at his notebook. Picked up his pen, but didn’t write anything. He felt embarrassed, like Andrew’s piercing gaze could see through him.

Andrew said, “Fine. Truth for a truth.”

“Ok.”

Andrew thought for a minute, and then said, “We did not grow up together. I did not know I had a brother until I was 14.”

Neil didn’t say anything to that at first. Couldn’t imagine having a brother at all, let alone not having, then having. Then he said, “What a disappointment that must have been.”

After a second of surprised silence, Andrew smirked. It was such a rare thing to make Andrew amused it made him feel warm, and known, and. He just liked it. He grinned back.

Andrew just looked at Neil for a while, and then said, “And you?”

Neil’s smile vanished. “Oh.” He looked away. “Oh, well, it was just me and my mom for a while. Then – she died. So.” He shrugged.

“What a fascinating story,” Andrew said, “I feel like I know everything about you.”

Neil glared at him, but Andrew’s interest in him had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and he was doodling fox paws on his notepad, and Neil couldn’t help but smile.

On Wednesday, Neil asked him about the others. Andrew leaned forward, so Neil did too. He spoke in a low monotone, but intense, like he was picking words carefully, over an affected air of disinterest in his own life. He talked like he couldn’t separate Aaron from anything else. He skimmed over foster homes, the fairy tale idea of family he’d never asked for, waved away the fact of a car crash, putting his brother through detox, saving his cousin from thugs, his starting striker from an abusive friend. Nothing detailed, nothing incriminating. Nothing he couldn’t deny later. But still, it was almost like trust. Andrew’s eyes burned into Neil’s afterwards, like maybe even he was surprised.

“I get it,” Neil said when Andrew hadn’t spoken for a while. Andrew looked at him. Hadn’t stopped looking at him, really. “But I have a question.”

“I am shocked,” Andrew said, finally looking away to flick a piece of paper off the table, “that you only have one.”

“If you’re spending all this time taking care of everyone else – who’s taking care of you?”

Andrew rolled his eyes. Neil had never seen such an over the top eye-roll. He leaned back in his chair, enjoying the reaction and waiting for an answer. Andrew said, in a low drawl, “You’re ridiculous. What a thing to say. Why would I need that.”

Neil shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He could feel Andrew watching him as he opened his textbook finally. Felt a little uncomfortable.

Andrew said, “What about you, Neil.”

Neil wanted to pretend he didn’t know what he meant, but. “I can take care of myself.” Didn’t feel like elaborating. But Andrew kept looking at him. Neil thought of all the half-truths he’d been given. Swallowed. Said, quietly, “My father – he’s dead too. It’s not a bad thing.”

“Hmm.”

They were quiet for a while, Neil pretending to read his textbook, Andrew pretending to scribble on his notepad. Neil watched his hands as they faltered, picked up again, over and over. Thought about how quiet Andrew was, how seemingly unbothered by everything, how close he held his family to his side.

Neil said, “I don’t have anyone. It doesn’t bother me, but – I don’t know what that’s like. Being needed.”

Andrew didn’t say anything immediately. Then, “Your lungs need you to breathe. Is that not enough?”

Neil smirked. Looked up to see amusement on Andrew’s face. He said, “You always say such weird things.”

Andrew looked down at his scribblings. Seemingly uninterested in this assessment. Neil was met with a soft flop of blonde hair.

“So you got Aaron away from his mother, got Nicky away from homophobic assholes, got Kevin away from an abusive friend.” Neil turned his pen round in his fingers.

Andrew waved a hand like _yeah_ and _so_ and Neil was, for a moment, a little overwhelmed by such carelessness.

“People always need things from you,” he said, tapping his pen and writing in his notebook _la gente me necesita pero no me ven_.

“Hmm.” Andrew leaned over, read the line and picked up Neil’s red pen to cross it out. “He’s a drama queen too.”

Neil grinned at him.

On Thursday, Neil had an early class. He went to the math building first, found Andrew, said, “I have Spanish in ten minutes,” and Andrew pushed away from the wall without a word and walked along his side.

He didn’t know why he felt like he was running out of time.

Half-way there he said, “Wait.” Andrew stopped. Hadn’t even spoken to him yet today, but he turned to look at him, in the middle of a busy path of students, slow and steady. Neil looked at him. “Why are you doing this?”

Andrew put his hands in his jacket pockets. Said, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Is there something you want from me?”

It was abrupt, he knew, but it had been building all week, and he couldn’t find another way of saying it, of asking _what is this_.

Andrew was quiet, then nodded his head off the path and moved to walk. Neil followed him until they were by a tree, near the lining of hedge and grass. Andrew leaned against the trunk, half in view of the students going to class.

Andrew said, “Ask me something else.”

Neil thought about it. “I’m not sure what you’re doing here. Waiting for me every day, walking me to class. Maybe you’ll have to spell it out for me.”

“We’re friends, Neil,” said Andrew, though his face was doing something different.

Still, Neil had to work hard to swallow the word. It came out a little uncertain when he said, “Ok.” Like he wanted it. He did, but. Something felt itchy under his skin. “Is that all?”

Andrew had never looked so attentive. He said, slowly, “Yes. That’s all. You said no, remember?”

“I said –” Neil struggled to think back. “I didn’t, actually.”

Andrew nodded, but said, “Close enough.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Neil really didn’t, didn’t know what he was doing, or what he wanted, but he did know his body had moved a step closer to Andrew, that Andrew wasn’t moving an inch, leaning against the tree like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he couldn’t feel the air between them, dense and hot and waiting. “But, I – if this is more to you, tell me.”

“And if it is?” Andrew asked, a breath away.

Neil didn’t know anything, didn’t know what he wanted, didn’t know what to say. He took a deep breath, and said, “I liked it when you touched me. No one has ever – I forgot how it felt. To be touched like that.”

“I’m not a touch therapist.”

Neil shook his head. “No, I meant – like my mother used to touch me, like –” _Like she couldn’t let go._ “No but, it’s not – I don’t do that. With anyone. I don’t date, I don’t feel –” He didn’t know how to explain something to Andrew he’d never bothered trying to explain to himself. He groaned, annoyed with himself. He waved a hand. “I think it’s just you.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. And lifted a hand, and as Neil nodded enthusiastically, hands curling into fists at his side in anticipation, said, “I see,” and pushed one hand gently over Neil’s covered shoulder, dipping below his collar, fingers curling over the skin at the back of his neck. Neil felt a shiver ripple down his back, felt warm, closed his eyes, bent his head forward, and felt it too when Andrew’s other hand grazed his cheek, feeling over the burn mark on his cheekbone, pushing rough fingers into his hair.

Neil felt his own hands propel into involuntary movement, and fisted them into the sides of Andrew’s jacket. Just his jacket. And they just stood like that. With his eyes closed and head bent, he could feel Andrew’s breath ghosting across his forehead.

It wasn’t a hug, it wasn’t desperate, it was just – as close as they could get, right now. It felt like pushing against an invisible barrier that neither knew if they wanted to break, wanted to break so badly.

The moment hung in the air like a held breath.

Then Andrew breathed out, and said, the words tickling across Neil’s skin, “I hate this.”

And Neil huffed out, almost a laugh, felt almost completely gone, felt Andrew’s hands tighten across his body, fingers scratching gently against his skull and tickling the hair at his neck. Felt ripples and ripples of Andrew, shuddering through him. Said, “I think I might want this.”

Heard Andrew’s breath tighten, nothing, and then hard against his skin. And then he was gone, Andrew was stepping away, back thudding against the tree, and he said, “Someone’s going to be late for class.”

Neil took a deep breath now, now that he could, mourned the loss of Andrew’s warmth, wanted it back with a desperation he hadn’t been expecting. He opened his eyes, a little dazed, blinked rapidly and looked up into Andrew’s eyes. And smiled, weak, uncertain. Smiled at Andrew. Smiled until Andrew’s eyes dropped to his mouth. “Ok. See you tomorrow?”

Andrew lifted a hand, brushed a single thumb across his cheek. “Ok.” Dropped his touch, and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back at my usual bullshit ;) -hedy xxx


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted without comment... xxx

Neil hated exy.

He’d been enjoying running these last couple of weeks. He thought he might keep that up. It was good to have something new to build into his routine, something for his muscles to strain against, for his body to be moving again. It felt ok to be running nowhere, for once.

So, exercise, sure. He could see the point. Enjoyed it, almost. But he thought that competitive sport was pointless.

Exy wasn’t quite as bad as some others. Like, football? Boring. Baseball? Mind-numbingly dull.

At least exy had some fire to it, he supposed.

On his run on Friday morning his mind kept drifting back to it. He hadn’t really decided yet whether to go to the game tonight, the exy ticket Andrew had given him laying unbothered in his dorm. He thought about the one time he tried to go to a game on campus and had to leave. Too many – well, he didn’t want to dwell in the past. In what ifs. What was the point?

Anyway, he didn’t need, or want, exy in his life. He had his health, a job, math. Some other things probably.

Neil pursed his lips together and pushed a little faster, his toes pounding concrete.

He had enough things to live for. He didn’t need exy, didn’t need Andrew. Wasn’t sure he had the capacity for either of them.

After a shower and breakfast, Neil let his feet carry him to the math building for 9am, as they had every other day that week, thinking of Andrew.

He didn’t know what this was. Andrew was – interesting. Fascinating. Exhilarating. Neil let himself walk a little faster. He’d never met anyone like him, honestly. Someone who seemed to like Neil, for Neil. Beyond the initial rejection, beyond the stilted conversation, beyond Neil’s scars and his secondhand clothes and lack of social skills. And he was – nice was the wrong word for it. Andrew was solid, strong, unchanging. Funny. Fierce. Protective. A puzzle.

And – Neil wasn’t sure what this was, but he thought he knew, really, that he wanted it. Thought maybe he’d get Andrew to touch him again, just to see if – just one hand, just on the shoulder, maybe dipping over his neck again, maybe pushing through his hair. Maybe just one more time. Just to see.

If Andrew wanted to touch, Neil would let him.

He rounded the corner and started up the steps, stopping entirely when he lifted his head to see Andrew – an Andrew dressed head to toe in _orange_.

He wore orange joggers with a black stripe up the sides, tapered to his ankles, soft white socks and his squeaky clean white sneakers. His jersey, _Minyard #3_ printed in small letters over his heart. An orange jacket, with black and white lines running up his arms, across his collar, a jacket which Neil was sure would read _Foxes_ on the back. It hung just above his hips, spread out over his vast shoulders, contrasted against the curling blonde hair by his ears.

Neil stood. And just stared.

And Andrew noticed him, and pushed away from the wall, his hands finding their way under his jacket, pushing into his pockets, stretching his pants across him–

Neil flicked his eyes up to Andrew, panicked.

Andrew was smirking at him. “Hi.”

“Yeah,” said Neil, looking away. Studying the tree that towered over the building next to them. “Hi,” he added.

Andrew walked up to him, stood to his side. Turned to face the tree. “Nice tree,” he commented.

“Hmm,” said Neil.

Andrew’s fingers brushed over Neil’s knuckles and Neil startled, the touch unexpected. He looked quickly to Andrew, whose expression was shuttering over, so Neil pushed his hand out and grabbed Andrew’s retreating fingers, unthinking. Just took them, held them. Awkward. Warm. They were rough, and scratchy. Soft. Neil rubbed them a little between his.

“Your hair looks ok today,” Andrew said, after what felt like the longest silence of Neil’s life. Neil frowned as Andrew’s eyes flicked over his head, fingers unmoving in his.

“Great,” Neil said. “But do let me know if your opinion on my hair changes.”

Andrew nodded, like Neil was being serious. And then, with a quick movement of his hand, slotted their fingers together.

Neil didn’t know where his heart was, but it wasn’t in his chest. It was climbing up his throat, pounding against his skin.

He said, “You’re very orange.”

Andrew sighed. Swung their hands a little. Just a little. “I know,” he said, maudlin, “it’s the curse I bear for my scholarship.”

“It’s – alright. I – like it.”

“I gathered,” Andrew said, eyes amused and dancing over Neil’s face again.

Neil grinned. _Fuck it._ He squeezed Andrew’s hand gently and tried to breathe normally. “No, I mean it. It suits you. Contrasts really well with your hair.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes, almost imperceptibly, but it made Neil laugh. Andrew watched him laugh, and then tugged his hand, once. “Where are we going today.”

Neil shrugged. “I have no classes this morning.”

“I have to go to mine,” Andrew said, sounding sour about it. “Or they don’t let you play.” He lifted his free hand and clicked his fingers, once, like he’d had an idea. “Which, come to think of it, sounds appealing. What shall we do instead. Drive until we reach the border.”

Neil’s stomach clenched, and he pursed his lips, and smiled down at their hands. “Hmm,” he said. “Tempting. But you’ve got that scholarship, remember?”

Andrew sighed, and nodded. “Yes. My life really is unfortunate.”

“When’s your first class?”

“In an hour.”

It was on the tip of Neil’s tongue to suggest the library – they were right there, and part of him wanted Andrew to have the opportunity to write him notes again – but, unbidden, he said, “Have you had breakfast?”

Andrew gave him an odd look. Brushed a thumb over his knuckle. “Yes. It’s 9am. I’m an athlete. Of course I’ve had breakfast.” He tried to look scolding, but mostly his features remained unchanged, focused as they were entirely on Neil. “Have you?”

Neil shrugged. “I guess.”

“You _guess,_ ” Andrew muttered, mocking. “If you’re saying you are hungry, we can go and feed you.” Neil shrugged again, then shook his head. Andrew dropped his hand, and Neil found his own stretching a little into the distance between them. Andrew took a step back towards the building behind them and gestured at the door. “You probably have some nerd work to do anyway.”

Neil grinned, and let Andrew open the door for him.

Andrew wrote _update: your hair has worsened. I hate it now._

Neil wrote _it’s the humidity_

Andrew wrote _libraries don’t have their own atmosphere_

Neil wrote _it’s the air con then_

Andrew wrote _want me to kill it?_

Neil wrote _is it that bad?_

Andrew wrote _yes. messy. worthy of air con murder._

Neil wrote _my hair is always messy. I thought you liked it_

Andrew wrote _don’t you have work to do_ and doodled an image of him stabbing Neil in the hair. Neil grinned and pocketed that one, completely ignoring the look that Andrew gave him for doing so.

Andrew had to leave for class, and Neil hovered outside, tightening his hands over the straps of his bag, not trusting them to dangle near any part of Andrew right now.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Andrew said, looking somewhere over Neil’s shoulder.

Neil didn’t even hesitate. “Ok.” But then added, “Will I even see you? Won’t you be busy?”

Andrew shrugged. “You’ll see me on the court. I’ll be the one in the goal.”

Neil swallowed. “No shit.” And then, “Um. But – before? Or, after?”

Andrew’s gaze flicked to Neil, focused. Hesitated. “Come to the locker room whenever. No one will stop you.”

Neil raised an eyebrow. “They might.”

Andrew sighed, and lifted a hand to take Neil’s, actually peeled it off his backpack strap, and _put it to his lips._

Neil struggled to remain in existence.

“Obviously,” Andrew mumbled into Neil’s skin, “I will tell them not to.” He brushed a kiss to Neil’s knuckles and held it down by his side. “Ok?”

He said ok like _is that enough to make you want to come_ but Neil heard _I would kiss your knuckles again_ and somehow managed to keep his feet firmly on the ground anyway, blinking himself back into existence.

He heard himself say, “Right.” And then cleared his throat. “Whatever.”

Andrew smirked. “Whatever,” he mumbled. He dropped Neil’s hand, which felt abruptly cold. “Tonight.” And turned, and walked off, jacket hanging just above his ass and, well, Neil just wondered if Andrew’s clothes weren’t a little too small for him. Not that he didn’t look, kind of amazing. Not that he did.

Neil frowned at himself. “Ok,” he called to a retreating Andrew’s back, powerless to do anything but agree to all of it.

The heat of Andrew’s lips, against his knuckles, burned. Neil clenched his fist, stretching the skin, and walked away.

Neil spent the rest of the day: working, eating, fixing his hair, napping, fixing his hair. Choosing an outfit. He liked grey. Picked his most fitted long-sleeved grey t-shirt, his somewhat faded but only pair of jeans, his zipped black hoody. Left it open across the chest. Thought that at least the shirt actually fit him, maybe. Felt a little too tight since he’d grown into it, but maybe it was too big to begin with.

He grabbed his keys, his wallet, his ticket. Placed it carefully in his back pocket. Sighed at the mirror. Ran a hand through his hair. Left early for the stadium. On his way out one of the guys started leaving with him, “Oh. You’re going out?” Bradley asked.

Neil shrugged. “Yeh?”

They walked awkwardly to the elevator together. “Don’t usually see you around on a Friday night.”

That wasn’t true. Bradley meant that Neil usually stayed in the dorm, working, or staring at the ceiling, or went to the library, or walked around aimlessly. He said, “Uh, yeah. I’m going to the exy game.” Wondered if he’d needed to specify exy. It’s not like there was another game on tonight.

Bradley looked surprised. “Oh yeah? Me too. I didn’t know you liked exy.”

“I don’t,” Neil replied, leaning against the elevator wall.

Bradley grinned. “Right,” he said, unconvinced. “You going for a girl then?”

“Sort of,” Neil said.

“I hear that,” Bradley said.

Neil wasn’t sure what he heard, but found he didn’t really mind the somewhat mismatched company as they were forced to walk to the stadium together. They made small talk, Neil learning for the first time about Bradley’s major – geography – and his girlfriend – a cheerleader – and his friends – geography bros.

It sounded terrible, his stories about getting drunk and doing stupid things with his friends, choosing geography because it sounded easy, coming to college for the, as he put it, “real” college experience.

But it also sounded kind of fun. Neil found himself smirking as Bradley advertised himself further and further away from Neil’s type of person. But he was honest, and enthusiastic, and self-deprecating, _“He’d said not to drink it, you know? I can be kind of a moron like that,”_ and Neil found he didn’t mind the chatter.

Bradley said, “Hey, how come you never talk?”

Neil looked up, relieved they were reaching the edge of the stadium car park. He shrugged. “Just quiet, I guess.”

Bradley nodded. “That’s cool man. I guess we just assumed you hated us.” He grimaced at Neil’s look. “You seem so – I dunno man – sultry.”

“Sultry?” Neil repeated.

“Uh,” Bradley looked panicky. “Shit. Is that the right word? I mean – not in a gay way. I’m not gay, man. I meant you always look annoyed as fuck.”

Neil frowned at him. “I always am annoyed.”

Bradley laughed, relieved at the out. “Right. Yeah fair enough. Ok.”

“I thought you guys hated _me_.”

“You’re the one who refused to come out with us at the start of the semester.” Neil thought back. Couldn’t argue with that. “Anyway man, come on, queue’s over here.”

Neil suspected that, if he wanted to, he could probably skip the queue, give his name to some doorman, maybe – he wasn’t sure how far Andrew’s enthusiasm for his attendance extended – but then Bradley was babbling about his girlfriend, how excited he was to see her, how great she was at cheerleading, and Neil found he didn’t want to take the spotlight. He did smile down at his shoes though.

Inside, they parted ways – Bradley offered that Neil could sit with him and his friends, but Neil said he had someone to meet up with. Bradley wandered over to the snack stand and Neil looked around the room until he saw a door labelled _Athletes Only_ and went over to it.

It wasn’t locked. Did these people really rely solely on honourable behaviour? Neil scoffed, and made his way down a dark corridor. Halfway down the second someone shouted, “Excuse me, sir, can I help you?”

Neil turned round, looked up at the heavyset security guard. “I – came to see a friend. Uh. Andrew? Minyard? He said –”

“Neil?” the security guy said, something like disbelief in his voice. Neil nodded. “Huh,” said the guy. “Alright. You know where you’re going?”

Neil nodded again. It’s not like working out how buildings were laid out was hard.

He eventually found a door that was different to the others – bright orange and otherwise unlabelled – and pushed it open. He seemed to be in some sort of lounge, and there he hesitated. He eyed the doors: office, nurse, what must be a guest bathroom, and then the men and women’s locker rooms.

He wasn’t sure what he was doing here, suddenly. It wasn’t like he could just barge into the locker rooms, where people would be changing, maybe socialising, maybe getting a pre-game pep talk. Neil eyed his watch. They had just under an hour til the start of the match. Maybe – well, maybe he should knock. Or maybe he should just leave. Come back after –

And then a pile of bodies were pushing through the men’s locker room door, and Neil had one hand on the door behind him, and he looked back as eight guys – all dressed for the game – relaxed around the room, dropping into sofas and grabbing energy drinks.

And noticed him one by one.

The tallest guy said, “Uh. Can we help you?”

And the meanest looking guy said, “Are you _lost?”_

And Andrew’s head popped up and around from where it had been buried in one of the sofas.

Neil took a deep breath, and stepped forward. “Hey,” he said, with a slight smile.

Aaron sighed. “This guy again?”

Andrew stood up. “Hey,” he said, walking round the side of the sofa, ignoring his teammate’s enquiring expressions.

Neil said, “So, this is where the magic happens.”

“Magic,” Andrew scoffed. “Sure.”

Neil wanted to touch him, but he wasn’t sure what Andrew wanted, when everyone was being weird and staring at them. Neil glanced around the room, and Andrew looked back over his shoulder, maybe giving his friends some sort of look, because they scattered around the room, getting comfortable, conversation starting up again. Andrew looked back at him. And took his hand, and squeezed it once, and lifted it to his lips. And kissed his knuckles. “Hi,” he said. Like kissing his hand was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hi,” Neil said, helpless to stop a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

Andrew stared at him like he wanted to kiss it off his face.

It felt like a challenge.

Neil grinned.

Andrew tugged his hand and showed him round, walking backwards at first and then tugging insistently forward. It wasn’t the most exciting of tours. There was the room of spare uniforms, the room of spare gear, equipment, the nurse’s room, where a lady looked up from behind her desk and Neil had no more time than to wave apologetically at her before he was being tugged away again.

They left the lounge and wandered down a hallway, and stopped when it became obvious the brightness at one end was going to become the blinding lights of the court.

Here, halfway down the dark hallway, where Andrew must have walked hundreds of times, with adrenaline pumping through his body, he turned to Neil, and assessed him, half his face hidden in shadow, the other lit up brilliantly, and said, “You came then.”

Neil shrugged, and looked away. Because, yes. He came. But he still felt unsure about everything. “Yup.”

“Even though you hate exy. And crowds of people.”

“Yeah,” Neil agreed, flexing his hands awkwardly at his sides and still not meeting Andrew’s eyes.

Andrew touched a hand to his wrist though, and Neil couldn’t help tracing the movement with his eyes, couldn’t help the fluttery feeling as Andrew’s fingers pressed against his skin, couldn’t help the stilling of his hands, like they didn’t dare move.

“Maybe we have more in common than you think,” Andrew muttered, and Neil looked up to see Andrew frowning at him, fingers pressing a little harder around his wrist, wrapping him in a grip. His eyes asking a question Neil hadn’t realised Andrew needed answering.

Of course Neil liked Andrew. That had never been the problem.

Neil sighed, a little shakily, and said, “Yeah,” his eyes never leaving Andrew’s.

They moved toward each other at the same time, slow and purposeful, pulling towards each other, Neil lowering his face to Andrew’s neck and Andrew lifting his other hand to push into Neil’s hair. Neil sucked in a breath as he felt Andrew’s fingers graze roughly over his scalp, gripping a little, like he was holding on. Neil ran his hands up Andrew’s arms, held onto his shoulders. Just stood there. Feeling.

“God,” Neil mumbled into Andrew’s neck.

Felt something like a smirk against his cheek.

“Is this the pre-game good luck hug?”

“Yes,” Neil said, speaking the words into Andrew’s skin, wanting to kiss, but not wanting to overstep, letting the words brush across Andrew’s neck, feeling him shiver a little against him. “For me. Because I’m going to get bored. And antsy.”

Andrew hummed against his cheek, and Neil really wanted to just turn his face, capture that hum between his lips. Andrew said, “I have to go.” And Neil knew he did, so he pulled away, reluctant. But then Andrew tightened his fingers in Neil’s hair, and Neil stilled, meeting Andrew’s intense gaze, just inches apart, breathing unsteadily into the same space, and Andrew’s eyes flicked to his lips, and he whispered, “Yes or no?”

Neil nodded, he just nodded, completely sure, dug his fingers into Andrew’s shoulders, closed his eyes and gasped a little as Andrew breathed against him, into him, parting his lips when Andrew nudged them, felt the hand that had been circling his wrist push around him and under his hoody, curl at the small of his back.

Neil was frozen.

It was nothing like he had expected.

Not that he had expected to be kissing Andrew Minyard, metres away from court, safe under stadium seats, minutes before warm up.

But if he had been, he would have expected it to be a lot.

He would have magnified the first touch of Andrew’s hand in his hair, would have imagined this like that moment but multiplied, to the power of ten, throughout his body. Crackling under his skin. But where that had felt warm, safe, grounding, like falling into each other, this felt like falling apart. Like his body liquefying. Like all that was holding his lips together were Andrew’s.

He was frozen, completely helpless against the feel, the taste, the _sound_ of Andrew’s mouth sliding against his own, until the moment Andrew stilled, uncertain, everything loosening and pulling away, and that’s when Neil moved, that’s when he gave himself to this entirely, when he spoke against Andrew’s mouth, “Can I?”, his fingers already sliding up Andrew’s shoulder and into his hair as Andrew nodded, as Neil was the one to touch their lips together this time, as he kissed him, as he gathered his torn-open skin and his laid-bare desires and pushed back. Tasting him, feeling, feeling Andrew’s hands gathering tighter round his back, fingers which shivered over his t-shirt, and Neil’s hands gripping tighter in Andrew’s hair, feeling him shudder against him, and feeling completely numb and alive at the same time, and feeling inexpert at this, feeling unsure, feeling like he had no idea what he was doing, feeling like he just wanted to taste, hoping that would be enough.

It might have been, Neil didn’t think he’d gathered enough data to be sure, but then the echoing bang of a door rushed them apart.

Someone called, “Andrew, jesus,” and Neil turned to see Kevin stalking towards them with a few guys at his back. Two of them smiling in amused delight. One looking like he didn’t give a crap. Kevin’s face was thunderous. “Where the hell have you been?”

Neil’s heart was still thundering in his chest, his skin and lips stitching themselves back together, as Andrew replied, “Calm down your majesty.” He stood a safe foot away from Neil now, hands in the pockets of his shorts, air of uncaring nonchalance back in under a second. Neil had to work hard not to smile, not to reach up to unstick his lips.

Kevin snapped, “We are on for warm up in five minutes, and we’ve been looking for you. Come on.”

Andrew nodded at him, in easy agreement but entirely uncaring, and gave Neil a lingering look.

Neil cleared his throat, and said, “I can make my own way out.” He pulled his ticket out of his pocket. “This better be a good seat.”

The corner of Andrew’s mouth lifted, ever so slightly. He looked at Neil’s lips, his hair, his eyes. Andrew looked so together, so quickly, and Neil still felt like he existed only as a pool of liquid on the floor. But Andrew’s eyes gave him away. They darted over Neil’s face like a heartbeat, his hands clearly clenched in his pockets, under strict orders not to move. Andrew said, “See you, Neil,” and Neil nodded, dragging his gaze away, figuring he could just slip out the athlete’s entrance unnoticed. He turned to go.

From behind him someone called, “Bye, Neil!”

“See you later, _Neil_.”

“Who the fuck is Neil?”

And Neil looked back to see Andrew punch one of his teammates on the arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said WITHOUT COMMENT  
> -hedy xxx
> 
> (yes there is one more chapter left le sigh this chapter was getting so long and im tired ok and i wanna sleep but HOO BOY can we have a moment of silence for neil jesus christ)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg it really is the end haha we finally made it xx

The Foxhole Court was – just enormous.

Neil had seen games played at the National Court on tv, at least five times the size, and had remembered the tiny outdoor version in little league, where there were no walls to bounce off, no ceiling rebounds. Just soft grass for small bodies to fall onto and parents sat in three-row bleachers along the edges.

But court was indoor, hard edges, no room for error. And Neil had been here once before, two months ago now, back at the start of the semester. Back when he’d first arrived at Palmetto, a freshman fully intending on making no friends whatsoever, on keeping his head down, on studying, on living, on just doing whatever he needed to do to survive and no more. But he got bored, restless, and the temptation was just there.

The stadium had been too much. Too much space for memories to bounce around, for crowded shouts to turn into threats, for the distant exits to feel like mirages.

Now, Neil slipped out the athlete’s tunnel with only a single breath in his body. There was no time to react, to consider whether panic was an appropriate response, because a sceptical, rushed security guard was already urging him through the barrier and up the steps, his eyes already skimming aisles, taking his ticket out of his pocket for help.

There was no time to panic. He felt the hard edges of the ticket, turned back once, in the middle of all these hundreds – thousands? – of fans. Let his eyes roam over the blank, hushed court sat still and expectant in the centre of attention of all this incredible energy.

Thought of Andrew.

Andrew.

He looked at his ticket.

Andrew, waiting calm and composed somewhere below all of this, and Neil felt an incredible rush of admiration for what he was about to do.

And he smiled. And let the excitement push out any lofty ideals of panic.

He had something else to think about this time.

Neil did join Bradley after all. The tickets weren’t seated, and Neil felt a brief surge of embarrassment at the comment he’d made in front of Andrew and his teammates; but the memory of the smile Andrew had given him – amused, genuine, attentive – made the feeling fade pretty quickly.

Bradley was sat half-way up the rows with a good view of Andrew in goal, which was where Neil had been looking for a spare seat, when he’d been spotted and waved over. “Neil! What happened to your friend?”

“He’s busy,” Neil said.

“Oh, sucks. Ok well come sit with us – guys, this is my roommate Neil.”

“Neil!” said the one with buzzed blonde hair. “The asshole?”

“That’s me,” said Neil.

“Neil, this is Max,” the blonde buzzcut waved, “and Jace,” a guy with sunglasses on top of a mop of brown hair raised a hand.” Neil nodded in acknowledgement and sat down when Bradley shuffled up.

When the cheerleaders came out, Max and Jace spent a while whistling and elbowing Bradley, who grinned and waved. Neil wasn’t surprised that he recognised two of the cheerleaders: Marissa and Katelyn were at the front of the squad, cheering and waving enthusiastically up at them.

Bradley said, “That’s Marissa, my girlfriend,” to Neil.

He nodded, “We’ve met.”

“Oh really?”

“We work at the same coffee place.”

“Huh! Small world.”

“Yeah.”

“She’s great man –” Bradley proceeded to explain to Neil in a lot of detail why Marissa was so great, and while Neil didn’t quite find it in him to agree, the enthusiasm with which he described Marissa’s personality and accomplishments did add to the list he was compiling in his head of Bradley’s good qualities.

And then the Foxes came on, and Neil straightened as Bradley and his friends started clapping and cheering and reeling off stats that Neil didn’t care about and already knew.

“That’s Andrew Minyard,” explained Bradley. “He’s the most unreliable player in the NCAA.”

“He’s crazy!” added Max, but he smiled fondly while he said it.

Jace shook his head, “He’s the worst, he’d be the best goalie in the league if he played to the same standard every week.”

“But his skill is undeniable,” argued Bradley.

Neil watched as Andrew ran laps with the rest of the team, stretched, then just threw a ball up and down in the air while the others ran proper drills. When warm-up was over he was subjected to what looked like a pretty intense conversation with Kevin which concluded with a ruffle to Andrew’s hair and each smacking the other round the head.

Neil said to Bradley, “What’s up with those two?”

“Oh, Kevin and Andrew? No idea man. They’re either best friends or they can’t stand each other, no one can tell.”

Max grinned. “I’ve got a bet going that says they’re gay. Like, together.”

Jace groaned, “No way man, shut up. They’re too athletic to be gay.”

Neil leaned around Bradley to look at Jace, elbows on his knees and cold expression on his face. “You friends with many athletes are you?” Jace raised his eyebrows but Neil spoke over the pointless sounds he tried to make in response. “I guess you’ve asked every single person on that court whether they’re gay? ’Cause to me it looks like you’re up here in the seats with us, so I’m not sure you should make assumptions like that unless you want a reminder of just how ignorant it is to make judgements about other people’s sexualities.”

The surprise in Jace’s eyes was priceless, and that mixed with the held-back smirk on Max’s face was enough to keep Neil’s anger to a low simmer. He let his mouth curl into a smile. It was Bradley who cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, shut up Jace.”

Jace shut up, chugged his energy drink, and looked away. Neil gave Bradley a thumbs up, got a laugh in response, and returned his focus to Andrew.

He was cheering up.

He was still expecting to feel some of that same nausea from the last time he’d been here – when the commentator announced the players, when the captains shook hands, when the ball was first thrown from Kevin’s racquet. But he didn’t. There was something – but it was small, tolerable, more like nostalgia than pain, more like excitement, particularly sitting by Bradley and Max and Jace, their enthusiasm infectious. The memory of Andrew. It didn’t _not_ help.

Neil knew Andrew couldn’t see him, only looked up at the stands once, perhaps in search of Neil’s face, before he must have realised it was fruitless in a crowd this size. It made Neil smirk though.

Bradley said, “Maybe he’s looking for someone.”

And they were playing so well. _Andrew_ was playing so well. Max commented, “ _Yes!_ Minyard’s in a good mood. COME ON ANDREW,” and Neil clapped when everyone else did.

And Neil did get fidgety – he’d forgotten how long a match lasted – but he got to his feet with the others when Andrew blocked an impossible goal, when the strikers scored 30 seconds before half-time, even followed the guys to the snack stand, tried to refuse a hot dog but accepted it when Jace pressed one into his hands anyway, eyes not quite meeting his. Bradley grinned at Neil over Jace’s shoulder and gave him a thumbs up.

Neil was buzzing in his seat. Five minutes to go, tied score.

“Oh my god,” whispered Max. “Come _on._ ”

“They’ll be fine,” said Jace dismissively, jiggling his leg up and down.

Bradley’s face was in his hands.

Neil was enjoying himself. He didn’t know if it was the new view of Andrew: he was impossible to see properly with all his gear on, but Neil could tell it was him from the way his body language changed second to second. Sometimes he was tense, unmoving, like a taut string ready to be plucked, sometimes he leaned against the goal with his racquet over his shoulders, watching the game lazily, once had to throw his racquet out to the side with impressive speed to block the ball that came hurtling out of nowhere from the opposite side of the court.

He barely missed a save. Had been switched off the court a couple of times, where he’d gone to sit with his teammates, drunk water, relaxed.

Neil liked the image of a relaxed Andrew. Wanted the end of the game to come, suddenly.

There were only a few minutes to go, and Neil found that he really wanted the Foxes to win.

They did have really good chemistry, as Jace had been keen to explain to him as they ate their hot dogs next to each other. Apparently last year had been a nightmare, fights on and off the court, no team cohesion, communication atrocious. But then suddenly things had been cleaned up. The rumour was that two of the players – Andrew and Seth – had disappeared to rehab or something over the summer, and when they’d come back it had been to a handful of new freshmen, a new energy, a chance to start over.

“Seth’s amazing,” Jace had said, licking mustard from the corner of his mouth. “He was a real asshole, you know? I heard rumours from some fifth years I know, how last year he was angry all the time, really bad attitude. I mean I think he’s still angry all the time, but he fuels it into the sport. I mean you can just tell. Look at him and Kevin – they’re practically brothers.”

Neil had spent some time watching them – how they moved up and down the court as one, clacking racquets and even, on one particularly good score, Seth doing a handstand and Kevin holding his legs up while the cheerleaders pretended to take photographs.

But Neil couldn’t take away his eyes from Andrew for long.

Two minutes to go.

Andrew’s body, low to the ground.

The stands quiet, reverent.

Neil tracked the ball as eventually, one of the Foxes’ backliners – small, maybe Aaron? – threw his body against his mark, the ball rolling from his racquet and straight into the racquet of the massive backliner who threw it to Andrew amid a huge roar from the crowd; Andrew immediately hurled it to mid-court where Kevin intercepted it, where he and the captain ran it up the court, passing and dodging, Kevin escaping his mark with a move so fast Neil’s eyes could barely follow, only to bounce the ball off the wall at an impossible rebound, Bradley and Jace practically on their feet as the ball landed in Seth’s outstretched racquet, as he shot it clear into the corner of the goal, as the goalie fell to the ground, as the goal lit up red, signalling 10-9, signalling a Fox win, the crowd’s thunder almost enough to drown out the end of the match buzzer.

Neil grinned with the others as they jumped up and down, thumped shoulders, almost knocked Neil over before Jace caught him round the shoulders – but he was too busy watching the team to really listen to his new friends. Kevin had run up to Seth and lifted him in the air, both yelling, let him down again as the rest of the team caught up to them and then bodies were lost in a mayhem of celebration. Even Andrew – calmly taking off his gloves in the goal – made his way over. Sauntered, really, and Neil had to wonder if it was all part of the same arrogant act, the one that said _I’m really good at this and I definitely know it_. Neil wet his lips.

Andrew clacked racquets with a few teammates, took his helmet off and turned to stare directly up at Neil.

Neil grinned. So, he did know where he was. _Of course he did._

Bradley said, “Oh my god that was awesome. Neil! Come celebrate with us?”

Neil turned to him and said, “Maybe. I have to meet someone first.”

“Whatever!” said Jace, one arm still thrown around Neil. “FUCK.” Max slapped Jace over the head cheerfully, which Neil read as ‘guy’ for: _holy shit._

Neil lead them to the athletes’ entrance, and when Bradley tried to stop him with a hand to his arm, Neil shook him off and said, “I’m friends with one of the players.”

Bradley gaped. Max laughed and said, “Dude! You kept that pretty fucking quiet.”

“I _knew_ I liked you,” said Jace, as the three of them followed behind.

Neil hovered outside the lounge. Andrew had invited him, but he didn’t know how he’d feel about Neil bringing people with him. He opened the door tentatively to a loud celebration. What seemed like the whole team was there, rowdy and excited and a man – the coach, probably – shouting at them with a grin on his face. Neil leaned against the wall, not wanting to intrude. Eventually the coach waved dismissively and Andrew finally turned, and saw Neil waiting for him, and smiled.

Someone yelled, “Neil’s back!”

“Hi Neil!”

“Oh it’s NEIL.”

One person was whistling a tune Neil suspected was meant to be implicitly raunchy from the laughs it got.

But Andrew ignored all of it and wandered over, in his usual dark jeans and hoody, casual and relaxed, hair dripping, white sneakers stark in contrast. He nodded his head at the others and Neil said, “Oh, this is my roommate Bradley, and his friends, Jace and Max. I sat by them for the game.”

Max said, “We’re Neil’s friends too. Hi! Andrew. I’m a huge fan. You’re amazing, dude.” He’d stuck out a hand but Andrew merely looked at it til it went away.

Jace said, “Neil didn’t tell us you guys were friends.” He was looking between them, as if waiting for an explanation, but as they chatted – mostly the guys explaining to Andrew how good a goalie he was – Andrew’s hand eventually made it out of his pocket and linked fingers with Neil.

Neil didn’t comment on how conversation stopped abruptly, for about three seconds, before carrying on as if nothing had happened.

Neil squeezed Andrew’s hand. Andrew squeezed back.

Tallest player came over and shook hands with Bradley, Max and Jace, who spent a minute enthusiastically praising someone who actually seemed receptive to it. Then he turned to Neil with a grin. “Hi. I’m Matt.”

“Neil,” Neil said.

“We know.” Andrew glared at him for that, but Matt just looked amused.

Someone appeared over Matt’s shoulders, clearly having leant up on tip toes to do so, and said, “No way! You don’t get to meet him first, I’m Andrew’s _cousin._ ”

“That doesn’t automatically get you dibs.”

The guy huffed and disappeared briefly before his head appeared round the side of Matt. “If that doesn’t get you dibs then what does?”

“I’m a better backliner than you,” said Matt.

“Andrew doesn’t care about exy!” said the new guy.

Jace gave Neil a significant look, as if to say _what did I tell you,_ as if he’d forgotten all about the hand holding.

Neil shuffled a little closer to Andrew, noticed Andrew putting his body one inch in front of Neil’s. Felt the heat at his side.

A tall blond girl appeared and said, “Um, can we go now? Some of us needed a drink in us yesterday.” She raised an eyebrow, and the corner of her mouth. “Is _Neil_ coming?”

“Oh yes! Andrew! Bring your new boytoy.” The guy grinned at Andrew who took a single step towards him, ushering him back behind Matt. Neil didn’t let go though, tugged Andrew’s hand and waited for him to step back again.

Matt grinned. “We’re going out to celebrate. Do you guys wanna join us?” Andrew glared at him again.

But Bradley was already saying, “That would be great man! Hey I’ll invite Marissa too.”

“Oh you know Marissa? Cool, Katelyn will probably join us anyway. She’s dating Aaron.” Matt pointed vaguely over his shoulder, as if the three guys didn’t already have the exy team’s names and faces memorised.

“Awesome,” said Bradley, “We’ll meet you out front?”

It all happened very quickly, and then everyone was leaving and Neil barely had time to look at Andrew tentatively – to say, “Is this alright?” to receive Andrew’s weary nod, to exchange a look and for Neil to laugh at the meaning: _this will be annoying, but we will go anyway_ – before Andrew’s teammates were budging them out the door.

He wanted to talk to Andrew alone, but the second they were outside and meeting up with the others – Neil’s hand dropped now and shoved into his pocket where it wouldn’t mourn Andrew’s warmth – and making a vague decision go back to the dorms rather than drive somewhere – the guy from before immediately approached them.

“Neil, right? I’m Nicky!”

Neil took his hand warily. “Hey.”

Nicky grinned at him. “So, you like exy?”

“Not really,” Neil said, aware of Andrew at his side, unable to see his expression, hoping it was amused.

Nicky just laughed. “Oh. Well I guess you and Andrew have a lot in common then.”

Neil smiled at him. “Yep.” And knocked elbows with Andrew.

Nicky rambled the whole way to the athletes’ dorms, and Neil hung back for a second, and tugged a little at Andrew’s hoody. Andrew stilled, waited until everyone else had disappeared, and then turned to Neil. “Oh no. What if we lose them.”

Neil grinned. “You were amazing tonight.”

“Boring,” commented Andrew, but looking cheerier than he had when they were being swallowed up by 20 people. “You survived the match, then.”

Neil tugged on Andrew’s hoody until his hands had slipped inside the front pocket, where Andrew’s hands grabbed them, didn’t let go. Neil moved a step closer. “Yep. You never told me it was that long.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes. “Stop pretending you don’t know things that you already know.”

Neil shrugged, and looked away, but Andrew’s fingers were playing a little with his, something about the action fighting the memories jostling for attention. Neil said, to the car park, “I used to play. But – it’s been ages.”

Andrew said, “Ok,” and then he pulled Neil’s hands out of his pocket, raised them to his lips, and kissed his knuckles, his palm, his wrists,

And Neil leaned in and moved his hand against the side of Andrew’s head, just skating over his ear, and kissed him on the cheek. Slowly, gently, rubbing his lips a little against Andrew’s skin, like he’d been wanting to do for hours,

And Andrew stilled, let them stand close, hearts beating against each other, for one second, before tugging Neil’s mouth sideways, pressing hot and heavy and hard against Neil’s mouth, licking against his lips, Neil kissing him back, snaking his hands around Andrew’s shoulders, a place that was quickly becoming his favourite, and he barely had a chance to enjoy the feel of Andrew’s hands on his waist and tongue against his before a hand was pushing his face away, and Andrew was frowning, pink, and breathless, and, while one hand found Neil’s again and held on tight, the other gestured at Neil and he said, “Do you have nothing better to do?”

Neil let his mouth stretch into a slow grin, his heart in his throat, swallowed at the ground a few times before letting himself play with Andrew’s fingers, letting himself shrug and look away and say, with what he hoped was a nonchalant air, “I can think of a few things,” before tugging Andrew inside.

They didn’t stay at the party for long.

Neil did meet every single one of Andrew’s teammates. He felt like an exhibit in a museum. At one point someone said, “Do you think he’s humanising Andrew?” like they thought they were out of earshot.

Neil laughed, forced, and said, “Oh, no. You’ve got it the wrong way round. You should have met me a few months ago.” And tugged on Andrew’s hand, pulling him away.

And they stayed like that: in each other’s orbit, putting up with the bodies in the room, together. And Neil smiled unashamedly at Andrew, and Andrew whispered bitchy things in Neil’s ear, and Neil laughed behind his cup.

Kevin wanted to know how they’d met. “You were were there," Neil said, confused. "Ball to the face, knife to the rib. Remember?"

Andrew said, returning from half way across the room, a bottle of water in each hand, "That's not how we met."

Neil frowned at him, and then grinned, remembering. "You decided then?"

He caught the bottle that was thrown at his chest.

Neil turned back to Kevin, playing with the lid of his water bottle. "We met at the coffee shop. You know the one. I'm his hot chocolate dealer," he added with a grin.

Kevin looked at Andrew, something assessing in his eyes, and just said, “That explains everything,” tight, like what he really wanted to do was list the calories and nutritional deficiencies in hot chocolate.

But Seth just rolled his eyes. “Hot chocolate is a _girl drink.”_ Andrew punched him on the arm.

Later, Bradley said, “Neil! You could have told me you guys were together,” like a reprimand, like they hadn’t only been friends for only one evening so far. Marissa by his side, giving Neil a knowing look.

Jace said, hurriedly, “Yeah man there’s nothing to be ashamed of! It’s um, totally cool with us.”

“Totally,” grinned Max, mocking Jace’s words, receiving a sharp elbow to the ribs in response.

Neil looked at Andrew, unsure suddenly. Andrew rolled his eyes, threaded his fingers in between Neil’s, and said, one of the few times he’d spoken that evening, “He’s ashamed of me.”

And Neil burst out laughing.

They left, together, and Neil let Andrew take him to the dorm across the hallway. “Yours, I assume,” Neil commented once they were inside.

“Mmhmm.” Andrew had shut the door and was walking Neil up against it.

And Neil smiled a little shakily, as his back hit something solid, and said, “What’s 10 plus 10.”

Andrew said, “You’re a fucking nerd,” and ran his fingers up Neil’s arms.

Neil grinned, threaded his hands into Andrew’s hair, and said, “Don’t you want to talk about the game some more.”

Andrew pressed his body flat against Neil’s, and said, “Do you ever stop talking?”

Neil said, conversationally, “You should wear more orange.”

Andrew kissed him, spreading Neil’s lips, sending an overwhelming surge through his body, and then pulled him abruptly away from the door.

Neil said, “I like your friends.”

“They’re not my friends.” Andrew pulled Neil down onto the couch, hovered over him, hesitant.

So Neil reached out and pulled.

And felt the weight of Andrew on top of him.

He smiled against Andrew’s skin, cheek to cheek, hands in Andrew’s hair.

Andrew’s hands slow and tentative, just skimming up and down Neil’s waist.

His _weight against him._

Neil felt like his world was collapsing and remaking itself.

Andrew said, where Neil couldn’t see his eyes, “Me liking you, yes or no.”

Neil wanted to combust. Wanted to push his hands into Andrew’s skin, wanted to burrow deep where he could never be found, wanted to say _yes_ , said, “I knew it. You’re much worse at this than I am.”

“Neil.”

Neil whispered, “Yes, you idiot. Yes. Kiss me. Yes.”

Neil closed his eyes, felt Andrew’s mouth move closer to his, small shaky puffs of breath ghosting across his skin, until he was there, and Neil could pull Andrew in, could be the one to kiss him, to kiss him, to sigh against him and whisper, “I really like you.”

There was a beat of silence where Andrew just breathed against Neil’s skin, his cheek, his lips, moved to hum against his ear, and Neil didn’t need words: he heard it in the tightening of Andrew’s hands around his waist, as they hovered uncertainly at the hem of his tshirt, as his face pulled away and there was something unknowable in his eyes, focused and intent on Neil and closer than ever before; something unknowable that for once Neil felt completely and utterly desperate to know, as he smiled up at Andrew open and entirely unselfconscious, Andrew soft above him and heavy against him all at once, staring at his mouth, his eyes, even his scar, like he thought his face might hold more than the answer to the question he breathed across his lips, “Yes or no?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO COFFEE WAS DRUNK IN THE ENTIRETY OF THIS FIC
> 
> CANCEL THE AUTHOR
> 
> anyway this was just meant to be dumb and short, a way to break me out of writers block, and it really fucking worked and i ended up with something really fun and silly that im very fond of, and the people who kudosd / commented / chatted to me on twitter about this fic have been incredible and ilu all so much you have no idea :D:D:D
> 
> dejahedy on twitter and djhedy on tumblr come say hi or whatever
> 
> until next time losers :) xxx


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